


Foxfire

by Kitsune9tails



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Addiction, Anal Sex, Angst, Barebacking, Bisexual Male Character, Cults, Disturbing Themes, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gay Sex, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Knotting, Love Polyhedra, Love Triangles, M/M, Mild S&M, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Oral Sex, Rimming, Self-Harm, Spanking, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2018-09-10 15:43:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 77,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8922958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitsune9tails/pseuds/Kitsune9tails
Summary: If you read this, be prepared for the following symptoms; nightmares, semi-permanent damage to one's psyche, shock and horror, nauseation, a profound desire to claw out one's eyes so as to never again be able to read something of this nature.I would describe what happens, but I don't want to spoil anything.  Suffice to say that Nick and Finn have been down this road before.  Will it work out this time?  A new threat approaches the city, can the ZPD stop it?  And will the inner demons of our heroes' psyches be put to rest?  For the answers to these questions and more, read on, dear reader.  Read on.





	1. Raindrops

Raindrops drummed atop the roof of Finnick's somewhat delapidated van. He could smell the scent of it through the gaps in the rusted metal. As he lay on the itchy-but-comfortable mattress that served in lieu of a proper bed; his arms crossed behind his head, right foot over his left knee he couldn't help but relax. 

Since he was a kit the rain had calmed him. Not that it had rained much in Sahara Square. He had always loved the way every note sung by tiny, liquid lyricists as they struck every pane, every wall, every tile of the roof overhead had formed a gentle melody. It was not quite a lullaby, not quite a symphony. But they still drew easy breaths from even the most tired state of his form. In the past they had hung ragged before his muzzle, as his small frame had shuddered from the beatings and scorn of all around him. But now life was good. 

After a long day hustling, nothing was better than relaxing to the pitter-patter of dancing raindrops all around. Even if his long-term partner-in-crime Nick had turned tail and joined the ZPD of all things. Bastard. Still, if that's what he needed to do to get some peace, then maybe Finn could learn to live with it. But only because it was raining. Rain made everything better. No matter how angry he was, and trust me, Finn knows from anger, that first mote of rain's sweet scent had brought such tranquil peace. 

He'd thought about living in the Rainforest District, but it actually rained too much there. Finnick might love the rain, but he also knows to appreciate contrast. Cool night, warm day. Rain and sun. Big and small. Especially the latter, but enough about his dating life. He'd probably kill me.

Anyway, he lay there dozing to the cool embrace of a rainy night's soft air; how sweet the sounds, how soft the smells, when just as he was beginning to drift away to the land of dreams, a somewhat louder pounding than the rain above ensued: a fist to his door. A hushed sob. The hopeless slap of an open palm whose owner was giving up on the chance that the door would open.

"Finn? Are you in there?"

'Was that Nick's voice? Is something wrong? THE HELL SHOULD I CARE?!' 

"Yeah! I'm here, dumbass!" Came the booming voice that belied his tiny nature. The door swung open, nearly smacking the drenched fox in the face. 'Would've served him right for abandoning me' spoke his thoughts, but Finnick's mouth said nothing.

"Can I stay here tonight? We... Judy and I..." But he was too proud to say the rest.

"So, she finally dumped your ass. Come on in."

"Thanks, Big Guy. And it was mutual."

"Sure it was. If we're anything to go by, you'll stay friends. If that's what you're worried about. Hell, you left me to join the damn cops and I still stick my neck out for you. Must be that damn charisma of yours."

The van may have been cosy, but it wasn't exactly warm. "Better get you out of those clothes before you catch your death. I still have some of your clothes from last time you were here."

"Thanks, man." Nick was not shy about his body, I'll tell you that much, and he didn't have reason to. The man was in excellent shape. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Lithe, graceful body. Slender, agile... firm. It wasn't anything Finn hadn't seen before, but he still averted his gaze. Partially out of decency (yeah, right), and partially out of bashfullness (I doubt that too). What his eyes could avoid, his nose could not, however. And Nick certainly smelt pent up. Was that anything to do with the break up? 

Finn was starting to feel the heat (lousey pheramones) and regret his choice of sweatpants and no underwear (if you know what I mean). The blush started at the base of his tail and spread up his spine. He directed his friend to the (less than emaculate) towels in the corner while trying to hide and suppress his growing arousal (which, by the way, has the worst timing ever), not easy when shirtless and short on furniture. 

'Come on. The guy just broke up with his girlfriend. I am NOT going to be a rebound again. Not even for Nick. ... BECAUSE HE'S MY FRIEND, DAMMIT!!! And... yeah. Just... think unsexy thoughts. Football. Long division. Food. Something. ANYTHING!!!'

"Thanks again for letting me stay." He was just finishing up drying and refluffing his fur, now he just had to wrap the towel around his waist... or drop it on the floor. Poor Finn. Such frustration. Fortunately, he seemed to be going to the clothes pile (and swinging his hips), he then bent over to pick them up.

"OH, COME ON!!! DID YOU COME ALL THE WAY OVER HERE JUST TO TEASE ME?! WHAT ABOUT YOUR DAMN BREAKUP?!"

"Sorry, man. It was just too good to pass up. My guess is you've been 'dry' longer than I have."

"Yeah. Steaming, over here. 's been at least six months."

"Haha. Damn. And I thought you had all the gentleman callers."

"Shut the fuck up, you damn faggot!"

Half-dressed Nick fell to the floor laughing at the ridiculousness of his very bisexual friend's outburst to his very bisexual self. "It's not that funny."

"No, it is. It's priceless. Oof. Thanks, man. I really needed that."

"Yeah, yeah. Now put some pants on 'fore I bite yo' face off." 

"Sure, but shirts are optional, I see."

"Just shut up and come to bed. It's one in the morning for Christ's sake."

"Guess I can ditch the pants, then, huh?"

"N-no! You can't!" 'Stupid heart! Quit your thumpin'.'

"Relax, I'm just riding you a little. Oops. Poor choice of words."

"You're doin' that on purpose. Now come on. Tell me what happened with Judy."

"I don't know, man. It was kind of a blur. We came home, she wanted to celebrate one month living together and our latest drug bust, so she got the Champagne."

"She offered you _wine?_ "

"Well, she didn't know about-"

" _You never told her?!_ "

"Look, can you just let me tell you the story?"

"Sorry."

"So, she got out the Champagne and I respectfully declined, but she was excited. And when Judy gets excited, she gets _pushy_ , I told her 'no thanks, I don't want any', and she was all 'come on, Nick. Live a little, just have one glass with me'."

" _This_ is blurry? Damn, man. What's the clear version like?"

"Dude, shut up."

"Right."

"Anyway, I kept saying no and she kept insisting, and it got harder and harder to breathe and then I was clutching my head and then I just... snapped. I bared my teeth, roared at her, slapped the glass out of her hand. Then we were screaming, I don't even really remember what about, and then I left. As soon as I slammed the door behind me I started... crying. I hate myself for being so weak and breaking down like that. Next thing I know, I'm here with you. Laughing like old times. Like all is right with the world. I just... I... haah... I really miss this. I miss _you_ , Finn."

"Well, that really sucks, and you know I'm always here for you man, just mmph!" Nick was kissing him. Forcefully, their tongues writhed; teeth clashed. The taste of his mouth, so familiar, and yet so... new. This was right, they both knew this. Why had they been fighting it so long?! The heat of their shared breath as it intermingled, the warmth of bare chest on bare chest. The way Nick's thumbs gently kneaded Finn's ears. The weight of his head in Finn's hands. This was right. This was perfect. This was...

"NO!" Finn shoved him away harshly.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Nick... we... haa... we can't do this. I'm sorry, we can't. We just can't." His apology framed with struggled breaths, a single tear escaped his eye.

"Why not? I'm sorry, I just... you seemed to want it."

"I... I'M NOT GOING TO BE YOUR REBOUND, NICK!"

"Woah, where did that come from? You're not a rebound." A gentle kiss. "You're my home, Finn. I always come back to you. Because home is where the heart is."

"What are you saying, Nick?! You... still love me?"

Nick smiled, a genuine smile, not just the mask he shows the world. His eyes were glossed with a tearey film that he struggled not to shed. He held Finn close to him, as though trying to bring his heart back into his own breast. "I've always loved you. I never stopped loving you, not once. From the moment we met to the moment we die, I will love you. Forever."

This time it was Finn who pushed their lips together. Gently first, then with more and more urgency. Their bodies moved in tandem; every heartbeat, every breath, every touch was shared. The scent of sex flooded the van. The heat flared in their nostrils as they began to writhe and grind together. Their lips parted, Nick lowered his head to suckle on the join between neck and shoulder. Finn gently but firmly ran his fingers through the fur on Nick's back as he gasped every breath and with them expelled the names of all deities that came to mind. 

Nick reached down and began to paw Finn's (somewhat impressive) arousal through the ever-aggravating cloth of his sweatpants. As his head was thrown back in ecstasy, Nick began to suck on Finn's newly-exposed throat. He ran his tongue over the gulping, bobbing Adam's apple as he swiftly disrobed his partner. He fondled Finn's balls and the base of his member with one open palm. Finn hissed a slew of expletives and with his feet began to claw at Nick's khakis. Nick drew back and engulfed Finn with his hot, wet mouth. He ran his tongue down and around the throbbing, burning flesh and into the sheath to draw out the rest of Finn's length. Rest assured, Finn was quite large for a fennec. Though not as long as Nick's (now exposed) flesh, he was easily more generous in the girth department. Which is where it counts most, no? Nick began to suck harder, until Finn's knot came free.

"Jesus, Nick!"

Just as Finn was getting near the edge, Nick stopped suddenly (bastard!); bringing his mouth clear off the tip of Finn's aching cock with an audible "pop". Just as he was about to complain, Nick picked him up, span him around and did something even more deliciously, filthily salacious with his demon's tongue. Meanwhile, this new position presented Finn with the juicy, red fruit he was most hungry for. To accomodate the difference in size, they both had to contort considerably and would certainly be feeling this in the morning (amongst other things), but neither of them cared. The pleasure was too intense. As Nick's devious tongue tortured Finn's tight and puckered entrance, to slip inside him ever so deeply. The fire in his loins matched the way that moist digit burned his insides (and the fire in his arched back). Fin lapped at the tip of Nick's sizable equipment and teased the slit at its tip. As both their backs arched further; Finn's backwards and Nick's forwards, he was able to bring that salty-sweet lolly closer and engulf it in his mouth. Meanwhile, Nick's mouth opened further and his tongue squirmed with yet more force. Finn knew he was ready for the main event and moaned around Nick's turgid length (causing Nick to moan against his ass) while (by way of signal) gave Nick's pendulous balls a gentle tug-squeeze.

"You ready, Big Guy?"

"Hell, yeah, Nick. Give it to me."

They sank deeper into the mattress and turned to face each other. Nick hovered over his mate and gently nudged Finn's hole with his tip. Finn was close to begging, but sated himself by gently nipping Nick's nipples with tooth and claw. Nick shuddered, and nudged that tip just a little closer. He wasn't gonna lose this game just yet. Finn grabbed Nick's ass with his ankles and tried to bring him closer, but to no avail.

"Come on, Finn. You know what to say."

"Hell, no. I ain't beggin' this time."

With strength Nick didn't know Finn had, he somehow flipped them over so that he was straddling Nick's waist. He pushed his full weight down and let himself fall (if a bit too fast), impaling himself on what I should point out, was about half the full length of his body. "Jesus! Gah! I forgot how big you were, man. Just... haa... just gimme a sec."

"Oooooh... god, Finn. So tight, so warm. Shit. I need to move. Please. I..."

"Just relax, babe." Slowly, on trembling legs, Finn raised his weight up as far as he could without losing his balance before impaling himself again; making them both cry out.

He did this again, and Nick drew his hips back a little to extend the thrust, and as Finn came back down he slammed his hips up to meet him. Finn's cock was leaking copious amounts of precum by now, and he was desperate to touch himself and fly over the edge, but instead he simply forced his body to move faster and faster. 

The van was filled with shouting, the luscivious stench of copulation, the slapping of hips against one another. It wasn't long before they were both ever, ever so close to that sweet death they could share. 

"Finn, god I'm so close."

"Me too, babe. Do it, tie me, I can feel your knot pushing against my ass. I want it inside me, Nick. Do it."

They groaned together Nick thrust upwards as hard as he could, pulling Finn down by his legs and held that position as they strained against that desperate itch they needed to scratch. The knot began to stretch Finn's ass wider and wider as they both moaned in pleasure until it finally poped inside; surrounding Nick in searing heat and incredible tightness; filling Finn with indescribable pleasure-pain. They writhed against each other, so close. Panting for breath until Nick came; flooding Finn's ass with heat. This sensation and the knowledge that they belonged to each other and no one else sent Finn slamming into his own orgasm at breakneck speed. As his insides twitched and clenched, they milked Nick of even more of his cum. They continued to move, each drawing out the other's orgasm until they could move no more. They collapsed into their lover's embrace, swore their love and fell blissfully into a deep and well-earned rest. 

The rain continued to beat on the roof of the van, bringing with it quietness, and hope.


	2. Twenty-two

The warm, dry scent of his lover's musk roused him on that crisp September morn. He allowed a soft smile to grace his lips. Finn was still asleep; curled up tight aginst his bosom, eyes squeezed shut and ears twitching gently as he dreamt on.

'I can't remember the last time I slept that well. This is... nice.' Nick thought to himself as he slowly stretched his arms, careful not to wake his diminuitive beaux. He knew he should get up, get dressed, start his day; return to reality. But he wasn't quite ready to leave his fantasy.

He snuggled back into the mattress and rested his chin atop Finn's head. Work could wait, as much as he did enjoy it. He could just stay here forever, and drift back to sleep...

A sudden banging startled both Nick and Finn to full attention.

"Finnick! Open up! I know you've got Nick in there!" Well, good morning to you too, Judy.

"You locked the door, right?" Nick whispered softly, but urgently.

"Hell, no. You know that lock's been broken for years."

"Shit. We've got about six seconds before she bursts in here. She takes being late very seriously."

And burst in she did, five seconds ahead of time. Saying that their nakedness was a shock is putting it mildly.

"Nick?! Oh, _geeze!_ Cover up! ... What is this? We have one fight and you _cheat on me?!_ "

"Cheat?! You told me you guys broke up!"

"Wha- we did! She said 'I'm done', how is that not code for I'm done with you?"

"I was _done_ with that stupid fight. You say we bunnies are emotional, but you're the one who flew off the handle!"

"I have a drinking problem! Why do you think I didn't want the damn Champagne? Besides. I knew the relationship was dead. It's clear we're just not right for each other."

"So that's it? One fight and you just quit? This was the problem, Nick. You never talked to me. Not really. Mr. 'oh, look at me', Mr. Big Shot, Mr. Macho. Never let them see that they get to you, right? Well, guess what? In a relationship, it's different. If we can't talk to each other about our problems, if you don't trust me enough to be honest, then how can we have a relationship?"

Nick stared at his feet, nearly choking on his own words. "Judy. I... I'm sorry. There are things I'm not ready to share with anyone. I don't want to change the way you look at me." Finn's hand gave Nick's a comforting squeeze; the last straw for Judy.

"I'll see you at work. If you still care about _that,_ at least." As she stormed off, Nick took a deep breath, squeezed Finn's hand for good measure, then the mask fell back into place. His eyes cleared of unshed tears, his shoulders rose, ears stood back up and the cold, dead smile of a doll was painted on.

"Hey, Nick, are you... gonna be okay? That was pretty intense."

"What? No, I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?" He smiled as he struggled with his uniform; still crumpled and damp from last night's shower. "I'll swing by after work, okay, babe?" A peck on the cheek. "Love ya, ciao!" And he was gone.

 

Nick half-jogged, half-ran to the precinct; this, coupled with the early September heat, the fact that he hadn't showered yet today, and last night's "festivities" left him... just a little on the ripe side. Not that there was much time to do anything about it. He was already running late, and though the run-in with Judy had gotten him up, it had taken a fair while. Still he (just barely) made it in on-time and was greeted, as ever, by a beaming Clawhauser.

"Good morning, Nicky! When I saw Judy, I thought you must have been fighting, she looked so upset. I was worried, but you seem to be chipper as ever! And do I detect a hint of euphoria in your scent? Someone sure got laid last night!"

"Ever the gossip, I see. And you're right, but not with Judy, we broke up last night."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, Nick. But I do love a good story. Tell, tell, tell!"

"Sorry, Benjy. Running late. Maybe later."

"Oh, of course you are. And here I am, eating up more of your time! Everyone's waiting in the bullpen."

"'Kay. Good talking to you." As Nick walked away, Clawhauser waved him off with donut in hand, as was his custom. If Ben's nose picked it up (not the sharpest sense of smell there), then this was going to be... an interesting day to say the least. Sure enough, once Nick stepped through the door, the air was heavy with whispers and speculation from some, woots and hollers from others (less polite), while others still were, shall we say, not quite reserved enough in their decorum, and panted a little with the first whiff of such potent pheramones (foxes are "popular" for a reason), the lattermost being primarily rookies of the canine persuasion. Nick took his seat to the right of Judy, who (naturally) refused to so much as look at him.

"Morning, Officer Hopps." Woah. Now that _stung_.

"I can't believe you, Nick. I'm so embarressed. You've humiliated me."

"Sorry, Carrots."

"No. You don't get to call me that. It's Judy or Hopps until further notice."

"Just tryin' to stay friends. Officer Cottontail."

"Cheese and crackers, Nick! You can be such a jerk!" She would've continued but Chief Bogo chose this moment to arrive, and professionalism comes first, you understand.

"Alright, everyone. Settle down." He then proceeded to read the new assignments, as usual. Rookies to parking duty, more senior officers to more high-profile cases, same-old, same-old. Once everyone else was dismissed, he asked Judy and Nick to remain behind for further instruction, for which they moved to his office.

 

"I called you two here because you're our star detectives, as you know. If necessary, more officers will be assigned to help you work the case, but as you're very much aware, we are a little stretched thin at present. In the last three days we've received reports of fifteen fennec foxes gone missing in Sahara Square. Three of which have already been found: dead. Exact causes are currently unknown, but they were severely dehydrated. What's more, they were uncovered along riverbeds in completely separate parts of the city. One in Rainforest District, and two in Tundra Town. They are clearly being targeted, but it is not yet known why. Also, several other mammals have gone missing from the same area; seven in total. All of the missing were last seen within a ten-block radius."

"Ten blocks?! There's no way we can canvas a section of the city that size. Even if we could, there'd be an uproar! And Finnick! He could be in danger. Sir, I have to tell him-"

"Sit. Down! You can't tell a civilian about official police business. You know that."

"Yeah, Nick. I'm sure your boyfriend is just fine." Her tone softened "I really am sure. They all went missing in Sahara Square, and Finn hasn't been home in years."

"Enough with the personal matters! You're here to start solving the case, not paint each other's nails! Now, I don't know what's happened between you two, and frankly, I don't care. This is precicesly why co-workers shouldn't get involved in the first place. Regardless of how you feel about each other, this is not a playpen. I don't care if you're friends, or if you hate each other, you will sit on those issues while you're on the clock, is that clear? ... ... Good. Dismissed."

 

They sat in Nick's cruiser for a few moments, silently stewing before simultaneously deciding that their issues could wait and other people's lives were, indeed, more important (no, duh! A couple of geniuses, these guys).

"So, what have we got so far? A few leads, nothing too strong? Sounds familiar."

"Well, there's the scenes where the bodies turned up, but..." She flipped through the case-file, swiftly. "No. Nothing. Not a trace. Not a blade of grass out of place. If they were carried there by the current, they could've come from anywhere."

"Potentially even from outside the city, though I doubt it, given they were all citizens."

"Should we just go to the last known location of the most recent disappearance? Ask around?"

"Not much else we can do right now." Nick sighed as he hit the ignition.

 

The traffic had been abyssmal; it had taken over two hours to reach their destination. Two long, tedious, draining, stagnant hours of silence. Nick had tried to break the silence with music, but the irritable Ms. Hopps had almost immediately shut the radio off.

"So, whose trail are we picking up?" Nick said at last, as he stepped out onto the rough-smooth sand, spreading his toes into it to relieve some of the tension.

"James Finian Taylor Jr., eighteen. He lived in that apartment complex with his mother, Ms. Sylvia Jameson."

"Divorce, huh? Ooh, that's rough. Could just be a runaway."

"Perhaps, but let's see what we can find out."

Nick led the way up the stairwell inside the rickety and weather-worn building; hardly constructed for the high heat and strong winds that frequented this district with Judy following quickly at his side. It was beginning to feel just like old times again. They knocked at the door of apartment 22J, complete with peeling paint and half-off its hinges. The door creaked open, revealing a bespectacled fennec, slightly shorter even than Finn. She was dressed all in black and had a dark, lacey shaul wrapped around her head, covering much of her tauney fur.

Nick spoke first. "Ms. Jameson, we're here to talk about your son's disappearance. Can we come in?"

The middle-aged woman peered up through her glasses with startling green eyes, made more startling by being so heavily magnified. "Oh, my stars and garters! You're Nick Wilde! Please, come inside." They followed her in and were met with stained wallpaper and spartan furnishing in the tiny apartment. "Would either of you like some tea?"

"No, thank you, ma'am."

"I'll have some, if you're offering."

The three of them sat around Ms. Jameson's coffee table, well, she and Judy sat. Nick sort of knelt awkwardly at the side, sipping his tea. It was a little bitter, but he didn't say anything.

"Oh, my James was always such a nice boy, but he never really knew what to do with himself, you understand. I was beginning to wonder if he would ever decide what to do with his life. But last year, after all that nastiness, when we saw your graduation on television, well we couldn't believe it. The first fox officer. He decided then and there that he would join the academy. You were his hero, Officer Wilde. We kept all the newspaper clippings. Then two days ago, on his birthday, he went out to apply for the academy and he... he... he never came home! ... ... I'm sorry."

"It's alright, ma'am." Nick placed a hand on her trembling shoulder while she wept. "We're going to find him." A glance around revealed that all the pictures of her son were prominently displayed, but covered with a layer of black lace. He was smiling in every one of them.

 

Back downstairs, in the complex's lobby, Nick sat with Judy while she decompressed. "That poor woman. Do you think she'll be okay? It was like she was already grieving."

"If we can bring her son home to her, she will be. That's our job, afterall. She said he went to the local recruitment office. If we check between here and there, we may find something."

They walked there, nearly two miles, searching every alleyway for any sign of a struggle; every road for a trace. But the sands were shifting and the light was fading, making it difficult to see. In the freezing cold of night in Sahara Square, they arrived, at length, at the recruitment center for the entire district; a fairly small, simple office building. They were shivering as they came through the door and were greeted by an enthusiastic antelope.

"Hey! Not often we get real cops here, especially not all the way from Central! How can I help you?"

"We're looking for a fennec fox named James. Here's his picture. His mother said he headed over here two days ago and never came home."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that, but I can't help you. I've been manning the front desk all week, but I never saw the young man you're looking for. Sorry."

 

Frustrated and hopeless, they sat in a local twenty-four hour diner, recovering over soy-milk coffee and some food. A salad for Judy and for Nick, a plate of lizard fritters. Lizard fritters? How gross, right? Well, remember that mammals are people and predators would straight-up die without meat, no matter how many blueberries they ate. Besides, they were warm and the sweet 'n' sour sauce was _divine_.

"I can't believe it. Another dead end."

"Well, come on, Nick. If it were easy, they wouldn't have assigned _us._ "

"Yay. Go team."

"Once more with feeling?" A death glare was the only response she got from him.

"I do have a couple of old friends hereabouts from my past, but I doubt they saw anything. Still, it's worth a shot."

 

Once they'd finished eating, and the feeling had returned to their aching limbs, Nick led Judy... while he aimlessly wandered around. At night. In the freezing cold. For which they absolutely were not dressed.

"Are we going anywhere imparticular, Nick?"

"Maybe."

"Are you getting us lost?"

"Maybe."

"We're going to die out here, aren't we?"

"Maybe." All of a sudden, Nick stopped in his tracks. So suddenly, in fact, that Judy almost tripped over herself. There he stood, smack in the middle of the road, sniffing the air. Sniff-sniff. Sniff-sniff. "Where are you?"... sniff... "Gotcha."

"Got what?"

"Let's go." He ran, full kilt, almost sprinting, with Judy struggling to keep up. Then just as suddenly, he stopped dead again and turned to saunter casually down a dark alleyway.

"Nick!" Judy hissed. "Where are you taking me?!"

"Evening, Sandy! Long time, no see." He was addressing a particularly muscular dingo in a wife-beater and dark jeans.

"Nick Wilde, as I live and breathe. Woah. Nice duds, you conning ZPD now?"

"Nope. Gone straight."

"Not too straight, I hope. Hahahahaha!"

"Ha. Never. Oh, Sandy, this is my partner, Officer Hopps."

"Hello, there, cutie."

"Um, hi. Nick, who is this person?"

"This is Sandy Matthers, a representative of the Klaw gang. Mostly reconaissance. If something goes down, he knows about it. And he owes me a favour, for not telling his wife what happened after the Christmas party ten years ago."

"Ha! If he had told her, he wouldn't be standing here! My missus can pack a whallop!"

"So, Nick, you were always a home-wrecker?"

"Nah. Just occasionally."

"Ha. Occasaionally. Was their anyone in the old gang you didn't have a go at?"

"I'd have to think about that."

"Well, this is probably none of my business, so I'll just be over here, humming loudly and holding my ears closed."

"Okay, okay. We'll play nice. Sandy, I'm sorry to say this isn't a social call. We're looking for someone."

"Well, if they were near here any time in the last few months, old Sandy'll know about it. So who's the cat?"

"A fennec, actually. James Finian Taylor Jr."

"Woah, mouthful alert. Gimme the picture. ... ... Sorry, Nicky-boy. Wish I could help ya. I really do. But I can't tell you anything about this guy."

"Ah, shit. Thanks, anyway, Sandy."

"Well, Meyhew told us all to tell ya if we see ya that you and Finney can come back to the family any time you want. Matter-of-fact, he seems like he misses you boys somethin' fierce."

"Sorry. Not interested."

"Ah, you're breakin' my heart, over here."

"Haha. Alright, see ya later, pal. Thanks anyway."

 

"Well, that got us nowhere." They were in the car, heading back to Central with the heater turned _way_ up.

"Hm... I'm not sure, Carrots. I've known Sandy since I was about twelve. He wasn't much older, he was almost like a big brother to me and Finn. He wasn't lying, but he was picking his words very carefully. He never said he didn't know anything; never said he hadn't seen him, just said he couldn't say anything... Nah. I'm just being paranoid. Sandy always broke the house rules for us when we were kids. But still, something did seem a little off."

"So tell me more about the Klaws. I've never heard of them."

"You wouldn't have. The Klaw always worked from the shadows. But Meyhew Overturio always had his fingers in everything. From drugs to sex to real estate."

"Wait, Overturio? He owns my old apartment building."

"He owns half the city. He's damn-near untouchable. I've been out of the loop since me and Finn left, but I hear that even Lionheart is in his pocket."

"Well, I hope he's not involved. It might make things difficult."

"No kidding. But I doubt it. Nothing this obvious is really his style. He was like a father to us all. Helping us deal with the wounds that brought us to him, to each other. Taught us about the masks we have to wear to fit within the narrow confines of society."

"That doesn't sound good."

"Really? It doesn't?"

"Well, it's good he helped you, but is hiding all your pain really the best way of dealing with it?"

"He who is weighed down by his pain will be unable to move freely; bound by his self-made chains. He who has no chains has no master but himself, and may truly be free."

"It's like a cult!"

"NO IT ISN'T!!! HE'S THE ONLY ONE WHO WAS THERE WHEN WE HAD NOTHING. WHEN THE RULES OF SOCIETY FAILED US!"

"Woah. Calm down, I didn't realise I was hitting such a nerve. Nick, you're a cop. You know that those rules are there to protect people, right? Still, I'm glad you're finally opening up to me."

"Huh. I guess I am."

"But no matter how much prejudice there is against predators, foxes imparticular, in a legal sense you are equal."

"Ha. You actually believe that crap?" He was beginning to raise his voice, eyes fixed on the road unblinking, knuckles white with their grip on the wheel. "Sure, _technically_ we're equal. But they always turned a blind eye to us. There was no support for Mom after Dad... passed."

"You've never mentioned your father before."

"Well, you know I don't like to be vulnerable. I know you care, but I wear this mask for a reason."

"If you ever want to talk about any of it-"

"Well, I don't." His fur bristled, but he kept his cool, though Judy could see the strain of it.

"Well, if you ever do, you know where to find me."

Nick ground his teeth as he replied. "Well, I _don't._ "

"There's something you're not telling me. And you know I'm gonna get it out of you."

"Judy, please. Don't push me. I am not going to talk about this. Just let it go."

"Okay, ease up on the accelerator. Please."

"Sorry. Death by carcrash isn't so glamorous, huh? Well, I'm still not telling you what happened."

"Why? _Why_ don't you trust me?"

"It's _because_ I trust you that I can't tell you. Because you look at me with warmth and I don't want that to change to pity."

"I promise that won't happen."

"It already is. The tone of your voice. Your body language. Even your scent."

"Getting a little personal, there, Nick. Whatever happened with your father-"

"It was a few years after he ... died." He took a deep breath, and began to quiver on the exhale. "I was ... I... No. I'm sorry. I can't tell you. I've only ever told Finn, though a few others figured parts of it out on their own."

"Nick, please. This is exactly why things didn't work out with us long-term. Everytime you start to open up, you shut down again, or you regret it. I feel like I barely know you. It's been what? Two years? You still can't talk to me? Don't shut me out. Talk to me. This isn't healthy. Whatever it was, I can tell that it was bad, probably part of the reason you have an issue with society in general."

"Meyhew always told us not to believe those lies that we were equal, that we were safe. It's the official story, sure, and maybe things are a little better now, but most people still see us as scum. I could work every day for the rest of my life to make things better for us and I'd barely scratch the surface. Maybe I'd prove to some people that _I'm_ okay, but to them I'd be the exception, not the rule. One good fox in a species of scoundrels, thieves and untrustworthy conmen. No-one protected us after Dad died, and no-one protected me after... what happened. I was only accepted in the Klaw, only protected by Meyhew. He gave us a home, he helped us find our place in the world. The chaos that balances order. He was the only one who helped me after... after..."

"After..."

"No."

"Oh, come on."

"Not happening."

"Please?"

"Fine. I was raped! Are you happy now?!" 

"What?! Nick, you were-"

"I DON'T... I don't want to talk about it." He slammed on the breaks and just sat there, shaking violently. He looked like he was going to vomit.

"Nick, please. Talk to me. I care about you. I just want to help you."

"Shut up. Shut up. Shut. Up. Please. Please. Please don't make me go there." He was clutching his head in his hands, hunched over, claws digging into his scalp leaving angry, red marks.

"Nick, I just-"

"I said SHUT UP!!!!" He struck her across the face, then stared at his own hand in disbelief for a moment before blinking back tears and trembling even more vehemently. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to! I panicked! I-" He collapsed through the door onto the hard, cold ground and began to retch. Before long, the stench of vomit permeated the air. He continued to vomit until he was empty, then kept dry-heaving, shivering from ears to tail.

"I'm sorry, Nick. I shouldn't have pushed so hard." Sudden realisation hit her. "You were just a kid!"

"Please stop talking. I just, please." He slowly rose from the ground, still shaking. "I'm going home. I'll see you tomorrow." And with that he left Judy dazed, confused, and somewhat stranded.

 

When Nick got home, Finn was already asleep. Nick curled up next to him, still dressed, and silently sobbed into the mattress until he fell asleep...


	3. Wounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two has been heavily edited. You may want to re-read it, but nothing really changed plot-wise except that Nick apologised for slapping Judy.
> 
> Also, this work is proudly beta'd by MagicintheMundane.

It was the middle of the night when Finn woke to the sound of nails scraping over Nick's shirt. He was scratching in his sleep, shivering wildly, drenched in sweat, gently sobbing. The nightmares were back, and from the looks of things they were worse than ever. Finn reached out to gently touch his shoulder, causing Nick to wake in a fit of anguished screams. Nick recoiled as far into the corner as he could get, curling his tail around himself and panting heavily. It pained Finn to see Nick in such distress, but knew better than to approach him while he was having a panic attack. The smell of copper began to fill the air and blood mixed with Nick's tears as he continued to shake and scratch.

"Nick, calm down, you're going to be okay. I'm here. I'm here. Shh..." But his words did not reach him. He knew he'd have to intervene before Nick did any real damage. There were deep, jagged claw marks on his arms, his face, his head; several of these contusions were bleeding. His shirt was stained in places, indicating other wounds unseen. Finn grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around his dearest love as tight as he could, in an attempt to comfort him while holding his arms down. All it did was frighten the fox further. He thrashed about while Finn held him down and tried to soothe him; gently cooing, singing softly, just being there. It didn't seem to work at first, but at long last Nick began to calm down enough that Finn could let him go and stroke Nick's head in his lap. He stopped trembling, his breathing evened out and in time he even stopped crying.

"Finn?"

"Shh, it's okay. You had a bad dream, but it's over now. Do you know what triggered it?"

"I tried to talk to Judy, but in the end I just couldn't. And I... I hit her!" His trembling began anew and the weeping was quick to follow.

"It's okay, buddy. Don't cry, I'm here. I'm sure she knows how sorry you are. How much did you tell her?"

"Not a whole lot. Probably just enough to worry her more. Was it wrong of me to tell her? She kept asking and I just didn't want to fight anymore."

"It's okay, baby. Listen, you're pretty banged up, do you have any bandages at the apartment" Nick shook his head vehemently.

"I don't want to go back there in case I run into her. I don't want to know how she sees me."

"I'm sure nothin's changed. And you need a new shirt before you go to work today. And a shower, too. Not that I mind the musk, but your co-workers might-"

"You're babbling." Nick eased himself back to an unpright, if somewhat unsteady, sitting position besides Finnick. "Okay. I'll go." He wrapped the blankets around himself tightly and began to shiver a little, but Finn was glad to see he was doing a little better. Finn moved to drive the van, and Nick crawled to the mattress, not to sleep, just to lie there. But he must have slept a little because he only blinked once before they arrived. Exhausted, Nick dragged himself, still blanket-clad, up and out of the van and into the elevator of his building with Finn ever at his side. The exact details were lost to fatigue, both mental and physical. His trembling hand fumbled with the key, only for the door to fall away from them. As soon as she saw him, Judy threw herself at Nick, offering a hug he was simply too tired to refuse.

"I was so worried about you." Seeing the cuts, she clasped her hands over mouth in shock. "What happened?!" Nick stumbled blindly through the doorway, heading to the bathroom of the modest space; the walls of which were painted a pale blue.

"Night terrors. He was scratching himself up. If I hadn't woken up and stopped him he'd be looking a lot worse."

"Oh, goodness, Finn. I think I did this to him. I should've known not to push him so hard, I feel so awful, Finn. Just thinking what he must have been through, it's more than I can bear."

"The truth of it's probably worse than what you think. He'll tell you when he's ready. I'mma go check on him, help treat his wounds."

"What should I do?"

"Just sit there and don't say anything, capiche?!" He hadn't meant to snap, but he had to admit, it was a little cathartic. He padded across the soft carpeting of the main living area onto the cold, grey tiles of the tiny bathroom. Nick was staring into the mirror, half-conscious, struggling with the first of many adhesive bandages and dripping blood into the empty basin. Finn hopped onto the stool beside him and turned on the tap. "Here. Lemme help with that."

"Hn? Thanks." Came the small sound of Nick's voice. Finn soaked a flannel in the warm water before dousing it with disinfectant from the mirror cabinet. Nick hissed as Finn cleaned the first few cuts, but by the fourth one he'd stopped noticing the pain. It took both of them and a tremendous amount of care to remove the shirt that clung to Nick's bloodied torso; beneath it were an inordinant number of cuts, contusions, lacerations and scratch marks. In some places fur clung to the wounds, in others skin hung limp and lifeless, revealing tender, pink flesh beneath. 

"Shit. Probably should've taken you to a hospital."

"Don't got insurance."

"I thought all cops had insurance as a perk."

"Budget cuts."

"Ah." What followed was particularly harrowing for Finn. In order to help Nick, he had to hurt him. Scratching open wounds to remove stuck fur so it wouldn't get infected, cutting away loose skin that was in the way, applying alcohol, covering with gauze and bandages, repeating until his eyes were streaming, his hands were bloody and his heart was in his ears. It was almost too much, but he soldiered on until his precious love was mended. By the end of it, Nick was a walking mass of plasters, bandages and gauze.

 

Judy sat on her couch feeling utterly useless. If she couldn't help those closest to her, what was the point in helping anyone? But no, she shook away such thoughts and instead focused on what she _could_ do. The answer was obvious, though unsatisfactory: she would be there for Nick, not as his lover; that door was closed (though she wished it weren't), but as his confident, his partner, his ally, his safe harbour as much as he needed. In short, she would be his friend, and the best friend she could be. From the bathroom she could hear his cries as Finn pieced him back together. Each one was a dagger to her heart. They had been in there for over twenty minutes, what could be taking so long? How bad were his injuries? When they eventually emerged, Finnick was a bloody mess and Nick was barely recognisable; several of the bandages already staining anywhere from orange to crimson. They were both clearly exhaused.

Nick cleared his throat. "Judy. I'm ready to talk."

"Are you sure, babe?" Finnick was squeezing his hand so tight; like he was afraid Nick would just slip away if he didn't.

"Yeah, Nick? Are you sure? I don't want to push you into this."

"Thank you guys for worrying about me." He squeezed Finn's hand back, and they staggered to the couch together. Nick took a deep breath, at first nothing came out, he swallowed, let out a choked, pained gasp, then a deep sigh. "I'm ready. You might want to speak, but if you interrupt me, I don't know if I'm strong enough to keep going." This was it. No masks, no lies, this was it. "When I told you about the night I joined the Junior Rangers and they attacked me, well, that wasn't the whole story...

"There I was, eight years old, crying in an alleyway. I'd just taken off that damn muzzle, with barely a moment to recover when I heard their laughter following me. I was too upset to run, so I just sat there, praying they wouldn't see me. But they did. I tried to get away, but they caught me. They beat me for taking off the muzzle, and the more I cried out, the more they kept going. The oldest of them must've only been twelve, maybe thirteen. Maybe beating me up stirred something in him, maybe he just wanted to humiliate me, or maybe it was a lot of things, but he led the others through stripping me; practically shredding the uniform. Of course, I begged them to stop, but they just kept saying that a filthy fox like me should be happy for the attention, that I was a fox, so I must be a slut and secretly want it. They even broke my hip at one point, but they kept going for what seemed like hours."

"Nick, please, don't tell me anymore. It's too awful."

"No, Judy! You wanted to know what happened to me, so here it is. Now let me finish." He was crying again, but ignored it and pressed on regardless, voice trembling all the while. "They ... they... cut me and kicked me. They stamped on my head. They... passed water on me because apparently foxes smell disgusting and they had to mask it before it made them sick. Their leader even took out a lighter and burnt this hideous scar into my thigh so I could never forget it. It was smaller then, but as I grew it twisted and stretched so that it would never fade. In the end they grew bored of me after I stopped struggling. I had to crawl home. It wasn't too far, but still. When Mom saw me, she knew what'd happened, but I refused to tell her anything. I must've stunk of shame... amongst other things. She blew the last of our savings taking me to hospital, but I never spoke a word of what happened, so charges were never pressed. The worst part was, Mom never looked at me the same way again. I wasn't her brave, proud little boy anymore. Just another victim to be pitied. Eventually, I couldn't stand her seeing me that way anymore and I left home at eleven. I haven't seen her since. And that's about it. So, what now, Judy? Do you pity me, too?"

"Christ what a horrible story. Oh, Nick, I'm so sorry you had to go through that. But I don't pity you. If anything, I respect you for being strong enough to survive something so awful and come out the other side as well as you have." He stared at his hands, shivering a little, but she could tell he was already shutting down again, going back into his shell, back behind his mask.

"It's fine. It was over two decades ago. I'm okay, really." Curse that false smile!

"... If you're sure..."

"I am. But thanks for hearing me out. I'm gonna go shower, okay?" Once the water started to run, Judy turned to the equally shell-shocked fennec.

"Hey. You doing okay?"

"Hm? Ah, yeah. I already knew about it, but it's not easy hearing about it again. Especially not after I saw all the damage it did."

"What do you mean? Like his drinking problem?"

"Yeah. Amongst other things. Sorry he hid that from you. I'm honestly surprised it didn't come up sooner. The drinking, I mean."

"Was it really bad?"

"Sometimes, but it's not really my place to say. I'd better go make sure he doesn't try and scald himself or something stupid. Then I have to put all the damn bandages back on."

"Why not let me do that this time? You go and lie down, you look exhausted. In fact, you guys take the double bed tonight, you clearly need it. I'll sleep in the guest room."

"Cheers, Jude. Not so bad for a cop, now are ya?"

She laughed, but couldn't help but wonder exactly what he'd meant by that. Probably just the perspective of someone who'd been a conman for so long, she decided. Even if Nick's whole thing had been not doing anything technically illegal, just living by loopholes. She also wondered what Finnick might have been involved in without Nick but ultimately decided that she was too tired to care just then. 

It was about four am before they were all asleep, and none of them slept terribly well, nor terribly poorly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if that ended in kind of a weird place, it's not easy to end a chapter after so much upheaval. Also, now's a good time to mention that I don't believe in trigger warnings. So sorry if that fucked you up, but no spoilers.


	4. Abandoned

Though only having two hours of sleep (if that), Nick and Finn woke feeling considerably better than the night before to the wafting smell of pancakes. Judy had only slept for an hour at best, and had slept worse than either of her friends, so at around five in the morning she had risen, feeling anxious and uncomfortable. Who were those people that attacked Nick? Did he remember their names? If so, should she report this? Nick obviously didn't want her to, but still, was that not her duty, not just as a cop, but as a responsible citizen? The only way she could find to distract herself was cooking, so after she'd spent twenty minutes pacing back and forth; waring a groove into the ground, she got to work on a batch of pancake batter. The first batch, she spilt the salt and made it inedible. The second, she got caught in her thoughts and used too much milk. By the third batch, she was running out of ingredients, but managed to focus until the batter was perfect. But then she burnt the butter. Next, she got the butter right, but burnt the first pancake. By the time two drowsy foxes wandered into the kitchen, the kitchen bin was full, and Judy had had to waft the stench of burnt... everything out the window. But neither Finnick nor Nick noticed. They sat at the small, round kitchen table; complete with a blue-and-white floral print on the surface and wished her a good morning. Probably. Neither of them were morning people, or had had much sleep, so the words were a little... incoherent. Judy returned the greeting, adding blueberries to Nick's pancakes, while serving hers and Finn's plain with maple syrup. To drink, they all had orange juice. It was Judy who began the (somewhat awkward) conversation over breakfast.

"So... how did you sleep?"

"Not great. Nick kept kicking me in his sleep."

"Sorry, man. Nightmares, y'know? At least they're a little better now." He slowly moved his right hand to scratch his left wrist, trying to avoid detection.

"Hey! Cut that shit out, idiot!"

"It was just itchy!"

"Yeah. My ass. I'm not gonna watch you destroy yourself, Nick."

"It's just itchy. I swear." A coy smile, but not a real one.

"DON'T LOOK AT ME WITH THAT MASK ON, NICK!" Nick and Judy recoiled with the force of Finn's ferocity. Judy was at a loss for words, and the boys were staring guiltily at their own feet.

"'M sorry." They both muttered.

A pregnant pause loomed heavy and silent over the table until they had finished eating. Nick glumly stalked off to dress himself in a clean uniform, but the stiffness from his injuries proved difficult to negotiate. 

"Ah. Shit!" He yelped, more from frustration than pain. He couldn't quite move his arms back enough to accomodate his tight-fitting shirt, nor its unyeilding material.

"You sure you don't want to change the dressings again, babe?"

"Ow, dammit!" Nick flung the offending shirt at the ground, almost in tears of pride and shame. Finn walked over to him and placed his comforting hand on Nick's shoulder.

"Here, let me help you."

"I can do it myself." Nick growled through clenched teeth.

"C'mon, man. You know there's nothing wrong with asking for help." As he spoke, he began to feed the sleeve of Nick's shirt over his arm, but Nick pulled away.

"I'm fine." His voice was thick with unshed tears. Finn tried to clothe him again, but Nick stood abruptly and turned away. He was very tense, almost trembling. His face was hidden, but Finn knew that he'd see tears there if they were face-to-face. 

"It's okay, Nick. I know you're frustrated. Just let me help you. It's okay to cry."

"I'm not crying." He bit out.

"Okay, buddy. You're not cryin'. Whatever you say. Now let me help you before you make yourself late."

Nick felt ridiculous, what was he, a little kid?! But he allowed Finn to assist him, just this once of course, and swallowed his pride. 

 

Judy and Nick pulled up outside precinct one and Nick smelled the cool, crisp air as Summer was giving way to Autumn. They walked towards the clear glass doors only for Nick to be stopped in his tracks by Chief Bogo, who took one look at him and scowled most darkly.

"Wilde. My office. Now."

Nick trailed behind him and for once, he had no idea what he'd done wrong. His ears drooped and his tail hung low as he marched to what he was sure would be the executioner's block. The sound of Bogo's door clicking behind him was a gunshot, the grind of their chairs sliding back from the desk was the creaking of a noose. They sat, Bogo heavily, and Nick delicately; a caveat made for his body as well as his nerves. He twiddled his thumbs in his lap and became intimately fascinated by his own shoelaces. 

"Wilde, what happened to you?"

"Huh? Chief, I don't understand the question."

"The bandages, Wilde. How were you injured, and why didn't you report the incident?"

"Incident? There was no incident."

"Oh, so these injuries occurred of their own accord. Spontaneously burst into existence? Is that what you're telling me?" The chief sighed and leaned forwards to gaze more intently at Nick. I suppose he was trying to be comforting, but the overall effect was very unsettling. Nick swallowed the lump in his throat. "Your... partner. Finnick, was it? He's abusing you, isn't he?"

"What?! Sir, Finn had nothing to do with this."

"Dammit, Wilde! Haa... Nick. You're a very capable officer. If you were attacked, I know you'd have been more than able to fend for yourself. And you would have followed protocol and called it in, I'm sure Hopps would've seen to it."

"Sir, I'm not in any danger with Finn. He's one of maybe three people in the world I actually feel safe with. Sure, he has some anger issues, but he'd never hurt me."

"THEN WHO DID?! Dammit. I'm just trying to help you."

"Why is everyone so obsessed with helping me?!"

"Wilde. This is an order. Tell me what happened to you."

"It's none of your business."

"I'm making this my business. If one of my officers is in danger, it is my responsibility to ensure no harm comes to them where avoidable. Obviously, some danger is an occupational hazard, but you're telling me this happened independant of your police work, so tell me. Who did this."

"..."

"I'm calling social services."

"NO!" Nick grabbed Bogo's hand to slam the phone back down. "Sir, please. I swear, Finn has never harmed me. Who do you think helped me dress all the wounds?"

"Then what happened?"

"Would you believe I fell down the stairs?"

"Wilde..." He growled, low under his breath.

"Fine! Fine. It was... haa... y'know what? No. I'm done with this. I'm leaving. Thanks for the memories, Bogo." Nick felt like he was being torn in two as he walked towards the door, prepared to leave behind everything he'd worked for.

"Are you seriously going to walk away from this, Nick? Detective?"

"Detective? Really?"

"You and Hopps both. The announcement was going to be at the end of the month. You've both more than earned it. Now please, sit down and talk to me."

Nick sighed and bowed his head, his hand paused on the doorknob. "You almost had me, sir. But I'm not prepared to talk about this again."

"Wilde! You've worked too hard for this to throw it away now. I won't allow it. Now, what is it you're not telling me?"

He walked back to the desk and took his seat. It was becoming difficult to keep his mask in place, indeed it had almost slipped already, but he maintained his cool regardless. "I... had an accident."

"These are self-inflicted?"

"... Y... Yes."

"Why? What could have happened to you to make you feel the need to do this to yourself?" Nick merely shruged, avoiding the chief's gaze.

"I was scratching in my sleep. It was a nightmare, sir. Nothing more."

"Wilde, a night terror of this magnitude doesn't just spring up out of nowhere."

"Well, this one did. Honestly."

"Do you really expect me to believe that? Do you see a diaper? A bottle? No? Maybe that's because I was born over forty years ago, and not yesterday."

"It doesn't matter! It was over two decades ago. I dealt with it. On my own. I'm fine."

"Really? Fine? A healthy mind does not attack the body, Wilde. You're unstable and I'm assigning you a counsellor. And before you argue, it's mandatory. Until you have the all-clear, I'm withholding you from active duty."

"But, sir, I-"

"No buts."

"I promised Ms. Jameson I'd find her son."

"Haa... you shouldn't have done that. For all we know, he's dead already."

"I know, sir. I'm sorry. Look, it won't happen again, okay? I'm no danger to myself or others. Now, please, _please_ , let me work my case."

"... Fine. But one more incident of self-harm and I'm putting you behind a desk until further notice. Is that understood?"

"Tch. Fine. But I'm not happy about this."

"Do I care? And send Hopps in behind you."

"What? Why?"

"If you won't tell me what happened, maybe she will. I'm sure you've told her."

"And what if you're wrong? You know I keep myself to myself."

"Oh, I sincerely doubt that I'm wrong, Wilde. In all the time you've worked here, this hasn't happened before, but the inciting incedent occurred more than twenty years ago, by your count. Whatever drew this response from you was likely in the last few days. Knowing how pushy she can get, I'm sure she pried your shell open and pulled out the raw, gooey truth inside. Afterall, what could have soothed you so, other than talking it through? And you did say how confident you are that you won't have another episode. I _was_ a detective, you know." 

Nick was agog. Had the Chief really been able to work out so much? 

"Before you catch any more flies, you may want to close your mouth. Of course, I'd hate to have to put her in an uncomfortable position. Are you sure there's nothing you want to tell me?"

"Can you really do that? Isn't that a violation of some code of ethics? I'd hate to have to bring you up on disciplinary charges, sir."

"Ha! To whom? The mayor? I'm the chief of police, Wilde. Besides, I'm well within my rights. Now, go and send Hopps in here, will you? Before you start sulking."

Grumbling under his breath, Nick pouted his way out of the office and over to where Judy was stood waiting for him.

"Hey, Nick. What did Chief Bogo want?"

"To talk to you, now. Don't worry, Carrots. Nothing to worry your pretty little head over." She snorted at his tomfoolery.

"Alright. I'd better go see what he wants, then."

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"There are things you don't do? That's news."

"Heh. Well, you know what I mean."

"I'm sure this won't take long, Nick. Why don't you chat with Ben while you wait?"

Judy scurried away, notably anxious of how long she'd spent talking to her comrade, even after hearing that the chief wanted a word. As she went, Nick felt the tingly crawl of dread that climbed up his throat from the pit of his gut. Pushing it down, he did as he was biden and went to speak with Clawhauser, which he probably would've done anyway.

"Mornin', Benjie!" He hollered as he approached the desk where the rotund cheetah was sitting with... was that a barbell? As soon as he saw Nick approach, Clawhauser was quick to hide it behind his back.

"Morning, Nic- what the holy hell happened to you?!" Hn. Two non-swearers broken and counting.

"Oh, you know. Got into a fight with a pair of scissors, and the scissors won. What's that you're hiding?"

"Oh, this? It's... n-nothing! Nothing at all. I'm just holding it for a friend."

"Sure. Y'know, there's nothing wrong with a little self-improvement. That is, if you're doing it for yourself, and not to impress a certain cape buffalo we all hold dear."

"W-what?! Me and Chief?! Th-that's ri-ridiculous! Ridiculous. You silly wise-cracker, you. You're making fun of me again."

"Maybe. But everyone knows there's something between you two."

"You really think so? I mean, not that I'm interested or anything, I mean I'm not, not interested, I just..."

"Oh, absolutely. In fact-"

"HE WAS WHAT?!" This cry of shock and horror originated, naturally, in Chief Bogo's office. So she had told him afterall. Still, the guy can project. Probably could've been a singer. But, I digress. What would this mean? Would everyone find out? Would they look at him with that pity he so despised? Nick's heart dropped with the weight of the implications; as did his ears. Seeing this, Clawhauser reached out to him.

"Nicky, wha's wrong? Are you alright?" But Nicky was not. Feeling nothing but dread, horror and betrayal, his carefully-placed mask slipped and his eyes filled with tears. All officers who could see this began to whisper amongst themselves. Nick knew the sorts of things they'd be saying. Is he okay? Should we help him? What's wrong with him? Fearing the pity he deemed inevitable, Nick ran. His left forearm covering his streaming eyes. He ran. A scared, vulnerable child again. He ran. 

He ran blindly, not knowing where he was going, or how long he'd been running, or how far. He ran. His legs turned to rubber, and still he ran. His chest began to burn and still he ran. His feet were sore and blistered, but still he ran. When at last he could run no more, he found himself somewhere he'd hoped he'd never return. The alleyway. Nick couldn't hold back the torrent of images that bombarded the forefront of his mind. That awful night played itself over and over again ad nauseum. Literally, in fact. After a few moments that felt like hours, he collapsed to his knees; eyes unblinking and filled with tears, he fell forwards, onto his hands and began to vomit. With an empty stomach, feverish and trembling, Nick fell with an audible thud to the cold, hard sidewalk and curled up there, wishing he were dead. He heard a familiar voice calling his name, Wolford, perhaps? And then the world turned black.


	5. Cold

Eyes squinted shut against bright lights, a low-droning buzz from somewhere nearby. Something soft, but scratchy. Warmth, another person's breath. The smell of too much detergent, soap, rubbing alcohol. Nick slowly opened his eyes, blinking against the bright fluorescant lights steadily blinking overhead. His whole body was sore and oddly heavy; as though weighed down by his own bones. Every muscle ached and his breathing was laboured. He worked his tongue in his coarse, dry mouth, trying to muster the moisture necessary for speech. He slowly turned his head to the left, until he could see a familiar, grey timber wolf.

"W-Wolford?" He softly croaked.

"Oh, good, you're awake. You worried me, Nick. Here, drink some water." Nick gladly took the small tumbler glass and greedily gulped down the cool, crystal-clear, slighty metallic Adam's ale. Immediately some of the pain that plagued his body was eased. With a weary sigh, Nick fell back against the pillow of the cot he was in.

"Take it easy, Nick. You threw up a lot and passed out. Are you ill? You should eat something. I'll get you some dry biscuits."

"Wait... Wolford. Haa... where... oh, my head. Where am I?"

"You're in the infirmary. It's here in case headquarters gets beseiged in large-scale riots. Hasn't seen much use, of course. Sometimes I sleep here when I don't want to go home... But enough about me. How are you feeling?"

"A... little better. Thank you. I... don't remember..." He gasped and sat up suddenly before groaning in pain. He clutched his stomach and Wolford eased him back down onto the small bed.

"Careful, Nick. What is it?" The wolf was firm but gentle in his manner, gently tucking Nick into bed.

"She told him. I can't believe Judy did that. She always put her duty first, but this?"

"You're not making sense. What's going on?"

"It doesn't matter. Everyone'll know soon enough." He rubbed the heels of his hands against his temples and eyelids, frustrated and trying not to cry yet again. "Soon, e-everyone'll know how... weak I am. Everyone'll know what happened to me. Dammit! They've seen me cry. I have to leave. Maybe leave the city. Nothing good ever comes here. Me and Finn, we'll move to the sticks. Heh. Maybe become farmers... No. I have to stay here. I promised Sylvia I'd find her son."

"Nick, you'll be okay. We're all a team here. We look out for each other." Nick turned away from Wolford, rolling onto his side so his back was to the other.

"Wolford, please. Don't pity me. Don't look at me like that. I can't stand to be seen by those eyes!"

Wolford merely shook his head. "It's not pity. It's concern. I'm worried about you, that's all. You come in this morning with all these bandages, then you run three miles in ten minutes. You burst into tears, you, Mr. Stoicism, then you just black out on the side of the street after coughing your guts up. You've got huge, black bags under your eyes. You're exhausted. Running yourself ragged. Talk to me! I'm your friend, aren't I?"

"I... Wolford..."

"Lucious."

"Hm?"

"My name. You can call me by my name. Listen, I don't know what's happened, what you're worried about everyone knowing, but why not just tell them yourself? Tell your story the way you want them to hear it. Own your past, speak it with confidence. Control the flow of information. You'll be fine, I promise."

"That's... actually good advice. Thank you. So, Lucie, let me return the favour. Why do you stay here sometimes?"

"It's Lucious."

"Just a nickname. Hm. Nickname. It's what I do with friends." 

"Okay, Red."

"Keep trying."

"Um, I'll call you... Cunning?"

"That'll work. I guess. So, sleeping in the infirmary?" He was sitting up at this point, and began to gently stretch his stiff and aching joints.

"Yeah... I love my wife, but things just aren't how they used to be. Lately, things have been... tense. I don't know why but there's a wall between us. She's lost interest in me and... I think I'm losing interest too."

"Hm. How long have you been together?"

"Since high school. She was my best friend, my first... intimate partner. All I know of love, I know from Betty."

"So what changed?"

"I don't really know. We used to talk about everything. She went to law school, and I went to medical school, and then-"

"Medical school? You were training to become a doctor?"

"A nurse, actually. I've always liked helping people, ever since I was a cub. I was only a few credits from graduating when I decided to become a cop instead."

"Why the sudden change?"

"I think I... wanted to stop people from getting hurt, rather than helping them afterwards."

"I understand. Though your bedside manner is exemplary." At this remark, Wolford became intimately fascinated with the empty glass on the table.

"Lucious. You... like men, don't you?" Wolford gawked and sputtered, but didn't deny it. "You don't know how to tell her, right?" He nodded. "So you're avoiding her. Haa... take it from someone who's spent twenty years running from his feelings; not talking to her, trying to shield her, it's just hurting her more than it would to tell her the truth."

"It's not that. She's... old-fashioned. And... the guy I like..."

"Oh! So there _is_ a guy! Look, if she's homophobic or whatever, then she's not worth all this trouble. Maybe you can change her mind about it. Maybe you can't. Either way, you have to tell her. Living a lie is just hurting you more."

"It's not just that. He's... not a wolf."

"Oh, hey. There's nothing wrong with that. I'm a red fox dating a fennec, and before that I was dating a bunny. Hell, I've been with more species than I care to remember."

"She hates interspecies couples even more than she hates gays."

"Haha. Sorry. It's just... why did you ever like her to begin with?"

"Well, I didn't know she was a bigot until just a few years ago, when a gay cross couple moved in next door. I still didn't know who I was. It bothered me, but she never did anything, or said anything to their faces, so I just let it lie."

"So when did you figure it out?"

"When I first... met you." The awkward silence was thick enough to roller-skate on it. Neither one of them spoke for a while, and when they did, it was Nick who spoke first.

"Lucie, I'm seeing someone."

"I know."

"And I really love him."

"I know."

"Are you gonna be okay?"

He stood there, silently, looking for an escape when Nick's stomach growled, angry at being neglected for so long.

"Oh! I'll... I'll just go and get you your biscuits. Yeah. Excuse me." He ran off. Bloody fast, too. Nick clambered out of bed and stumbled after him, dizzy and faint.

"Lucious, wait!" But he was gone. "Dammit." Nick staggered forth, hand on the wall to his left. It was slow-going. His stomach was empty, his head spinning, vision pale and blurred slightly at the edges. It took him a few minutes just to leave the room, and many more to get his bearings, let alone find his way back to a part of the precinct he actually recognised. At length, Nick found his way to the cafeteria, with no idea of how he got there. He spied the coffee machine from across the way, such was his desire that he left the wall for a more direct route. After a few steps, he swooned and fell to one knee. Everyone got up at once, but before they could so much as move to his aid he had regained his footing and pushed forwards once more, backed only by the strength of his damnable pride. They watched in silence and in awe as he fell once more, picked himself back up and moved another three feet only to fall again. Stubborn and starving, Nick dragged himself closer and closer to those beautiful beans-made-elixir. Inch by inch, he made his way to it, enboldened by that glorious smell. Closer and closer, he could amost taste it. At last! The coffee would be his! He had made it to the promised land of thick, disgusting sludge. Everyone had lost interest at this point and sat back down. Man, the coffee here sucked, but Nick didn't care. He tried to thin the crude oil with soy milk, but it just formed a gooey, inedible paste. He tried to sweeten it with sugar, but it hissed and spat like boiling oil. As Nick brought the volatile concoction to his lips, who should show up but Judy?

"Woah! You're not really going to drink that, are you? Are you insane?! Put it down, oh my god! How... how did you...? Is your stomach made of cast iron? No. Do not drink another one!" Nick really should have listened to her. Fortunately he was determined enough to hold it down.

"That. Was the worst coffee. Of all time. And I'm still hungry."

"I don't know whether to be impressed or horrified."

"You could be both. God, this feels like a lead weight." He rummaged through the cupboards, groping blindly, hungry for anything; he shoved a bunch of crackers in his face.

"This is getting gross fast."

"Myeh. Om shtr mrd it chuu." (Without the crackers, that's 'Yeah. I'm still mad at you.') He chugged a jug of water next, which was... less vile, but still refreshing.

"I'm really sorry, Nick. He made me tell him."

"It's okay, Jude. You lasted two minutes longer than I expected."

"But, I only lasted two minutes."

"Yep. But I'll forgive you if you do one thing for me."

"Anything."

"Help me keep my promise to Sylvia Jameson. Help me find her son before it's too late."

"Oh, Nick. I was already going to do that."

"I know. But for some reason, this one's really important to me." Judy placed her hand on Nick's arm, comforting him. "Before we get started, have you seen Wolford?"

"No. Should I have?"

"I hope he's okay. I'm sure I'll see him around. Let's get going."

 

They picked up the trail of a new disappearance, one of three that last day; an arctic fox from Tundra Town. Even with the thick coats they had brought with them, they were shivering.

"Brrr... It's freezing out here. Hey, do you think Mr Big might have something to do with this one?"

"Nah. Kidnapping's not his style. Unless this Jirard Willis guy crossed him, but even then, he only ices people under pretty extreme circumstances."

"Like a skunk-butt rug?"

"Exactly."

The wind was howling all around them, casting snow into the afternoon sun as diamond dust that hung in the air and sparkled all around them. The snow crunched underfoot as they made their way down the frozen hillside; their path leading them directly at odds with the bitter, biting wind. Their eyes stung by countless, tiny needles until they were squinting, half-blind until the crunching of the snow gave way to a terrible crack as ice hidden by the snow split open over a large pond.

"JUDY!" There she was, stranded on a tiny block of ice, drifting away from the shoreline where Nick stood.

"I'm okay!" She called as she hopped from block to block, defying death with every bound. She was making good progress, too, until her ankle turned as she landed, sending her slipping across the ice towards the blue-black water below. Sunlight suddenly covered by clouds, visibility obscured by snow as a blizzard blew in out of nowhere. Nick could see (just barely) that she would fall in at any moment.

"Shit." He would drown in his heavy coat, but without it he would surely freeze. Disregarding this he shed the parka to the ground and dove head first into certain doom. As dark and difficult to see as it was above the surface, down here it was dark as pitch. Nick swam to where he had last seen his friend, as fast as he could. The cold burning his flesh; the lack of air burning his lungs. Arms and legs numb he swam down deeper into the inky blackness. If he didn't find her soon, they'd both perish. He bumped into something as he swam. Was it soft friend or hard ice? Too numb to tell. Nor was there a difference in temperature between him and it. Hoping against hope, he grabbed on and decided to surface. But which way was up? He released a bubble of air from his mouth, but it was too dark to see to follow it. He was running out of time and he knew it. Nick put his faith in what he perceived as up and pumped his legs as hard as he could, but by now they were too numb to know if they were even moving. Wait? Was that light? A faint glimmer, but it was there. He pushed on as hard as he could, the light fading in and out of vision as he went...

Air! Sweet, sustaining air! Nick gasped the deepest, purest breath of his life. Under his arm was Judy, thankfully, and not a rock or lump of ice. Her eyes were closed and her face peaceful. Out of his mind with worry, Nick made for the shore as fast as he could. He could barely move at this point but he crawled with one arm and all his remaining energy. The edge of this accursed pond couldn't really be getting further away, could it? He kicked out harder and harder, eyes clenched shut until... success! He dragged both their bodies out of the water and onto terra firma. He was panting for breath, but Judy was very cold and very still.

"Judy? Judy?! Wake up!" He clutched her limp form to his chest, a frozen breath caught in his throat, only to tremble out as mist. "Help! HELP!!!!!" But there was no answer. Only this icy wind howling on and on. Forever. He ripped off his snow-gloves with his teeth and pinched the base of her ear. There was no sign of a pulse. One, two. Still nothing. Three, four. Nick began to panic. A pulse! Oh, faint, faint pulse. Just to be sure, and forgetting propriety for the moment, he opened her coat and felt under her uniform, finding a flutter beneath her breast. And her core was still warm, if only a little. She was alive! Nick had left his own parka on the other side of the pool, now beginning to freeze over again. He unbuttoned his shirt, pressed Judy into his bosom and rebuttoned his shirt around her, made difficult by the numbness of his fingertips, thinking warm thoughts as he made his way through the blizzard.

"Hang in there, Carrots."

He trudged on, through the ever-worsening storm, praying for a sign of civilisation. Streetlights? Huzzah! He renewed his efforts and ran as fast as he could, which at this point meant jogging at just above the rate of a brisk walk. But the streets were empty.

"HEEEEEEEELP!!!!"

"Quiet, out there!"

"Who said that? Please? My friend needs help."

"Nick? Nick Wilde?" He knew that voice...

"Kevin?" This could be good or bad. One of Mr. Big's polar bears, he had a soft-spot for Nick (a story for another time), but Mr. Big did not. But he did have a soft spot for Judy. But Kevin did not. Before Nick had it figured out one way or the other, he had picked them up and brought them inside his rustic log cabin. Nick was shivering by the newly-lit fire, while Judy slept on, worryingly and Kevin sat by the corner window, trying to keep cool.

"What were you two doing in this storm?" His deep voice reverberated throughout the entire room, sending tingles down Nick's spine. Or maybe that was hypothermia.

"W-we were l-looking for a-an a-arctic f-f-f-fox." A few deep breaths to calm his chattering teeth. "His n-name is Jirard Willis. Short tail, long ears, silver-white fur, blue eyes."

"I have no knowledge of this fox. What did he do?"

"D-d-disap-ppeared. Brrr..."

"I'll inform Mr. Big that Judy wants him found."

"Th-th-thank you."

"Shh. Sleep now, little ones. A warm, dry bed awaits you."

Kevin had two guest rooms. One tooled for those who liked the cold, and one for those who... did not. Both neighboured the master bedroom. Newly-dressed in clean, dry clothes Nick had left previously (don't ask), he lay beside Judy, clad in a borrowed t-shirt as Kevin wrapped them up warm and left. The house shook as he walked down the stairs, presumably to read some old literature, which Nick recalled were his favourites. He'd even gotten Kevin some for his birthday one year before the... unpleasantness. As Nick settled down to sleep, listening warily to Judy's soft, barely-audible breathing, his penultimate thought was of how awkward it was lying next to her again. His final thoughts were of Finn.


	6. Lost

_Kevin looms over me, his turgid length exposed. I gasp as he enters me, both shuddering. I hear a voice and it is Finn's voice. 'Why are you doing this to me, Nick?' he asks, his head replacing Kevin's. I blink and now it is Finn's body with Kevin's head. They speak together of one voice, incomprehensible and alarming._

Nick awoke with a jolt, 'strange dream' he thought and 'where am I?'. He took a moment to look around the darkened room from where he lay. He sees the carvings adorning the wooden walls and feels a chill pass through the heavy woolen blankets. He rolls over with a groan, wondering why everything was hurting so much. Especially his chest. It was like a crushing weight inside his lungs. He couldn't breathe; his head was pounding, his throat dry. He sat up suddenly, his headache flaring from a dull pounding to a screaming roar as he moved too fast and began to cough. The tremors shook his whole body as he hacked up his lungs over and over until a vomit-inducingly detestable mass of phlegm spilled forth. It was a dark green, some of it black and stained with blood in places. Terrible waste of a duvet, too. Good luck washing out those stains, Kevin!

Nick could hear voices coming from downstairs and staggered forth, curious, and entirely too disoriented to work out whose voice belonged to whom. In the comfortable living room, lit by a roaring fire, sat Kevin and Judy; talking and... laughing.

"Judy. Khem-khm! You're awake. I'm so glad you're okay. And actually getting along with Kevin, too. Wonders will never cease. Klhm!"

"That's a nasty cough, Nick. I hope you didn't catch anything, swimming around in the freezing dark to save this one." 

"He did? Nick, I remember now! The ice, the water. You must've saved my life."

"I-it's nothing, Carrots. Ahuhem! Urgh. God, I hate being ill. But don't worry about me. Haa... I'm just... haa... fine..." He felt light-headed and began to waver on his feet. Judy and Kevin jumped up and moved to catch him.

"Foolish little one. Come and sit down by the fire."

"Thanks, Kevin." Now that the fox was sat in the light, they could see more clearly the dark bags under his eyes and their glassy quality, the slightly green-ish hue to the skin beneath his fur, and that his bandages were stained a poisonous green, or yellow.

Judy gasped upon seeing this. "Nick! Your bandages haven't been changed in over a day. I hope they're not infected." To check, she delicately peeled one of the wrappings from his left ear and watched in horror as a large glob of viscous, green-ish pus oozed out. With her clean hand, she checked his forehead and was burnt by the severity of his fever. His eyes seemed unfocused and the lids drooped heavily. 

"These wounds are serious. They should've been sutured immediately. Nick, why didn't you go to a hospital?" 

"Haa... no... hospitals."

"Easy, Nick. Save your energy."

"Hmph. Do not coddle him, Judy. He has allowed himself to be dragged to death's door. One should take one's own health seriously, unless it is their desire to die or be given attention."

"I... haa... ow. I've not been to a hospital since I was eight and I'm not starting now! Haa... haa..." His breathing became increasingly laboured until it was all he could do to pant heavily and clutch desperately at his consciousness.

"Since you were... you mean after... I see. You're afraid. It's okay, Nick. I'm right here with you. And the ZPD gives full coverage, so it's not like it'll cost anything."

"I'm... not going." Nick managed to weeze out, barely audible. "Kevin... can..."

"These are too numerous and too severe. I am no doctor, Nick. Merely a good hand with a needle and thread when necessary." Here, Kevin placed his warm, heavy hand on Nick's shoulder, careful not to crush his friend and former-lover. "I know you're afraid, Nick. But you need a real doctor. They will not hurt you. I guarantee your safety."

"But... "

"Tch. But nothing! Nick, please. Just for once in your life let someone help you! Let Kevin drive you to the damn hospital! I'll stay with you and-"

"No. Stay here. Work the case. It's too important."

"O-okay. If you're sure...?" He nodded his assent, clearly on the verge of collapse. 

Kevin swiftly changed his attire for the warmer climate of Central Zootopia and bundled Nick in a heavy blanket (one he hadn't ruined yet) and strapped him into the backseat of his spacious car in a lying position, so that he could rest as they made their way to the hospital. The car pulled away at alarming speed, leaving Judy to pick up the trail. But first, she went to a payphone, hers and Nick's own phones having been completely ruined in their little dip yesterday. 

"ZPD Dispatch, this is Officer Judy Hopps requesting support investigating a missing person's report in Tundra Town."

"Oh, hey, Judy! It's Ben!"

"Oh, hi, Ben. I didn't know you handled dispatch calls."

"Sometimes they go through the front desk. What can I help you with, Sweetie?"

"I need someone to come out here and fill in for Nick while he's in hospital."

"Huh?! What happened to Nicky? Is he okay?"

"He's fine, Ben. His cuts got infected and he's running a fever, so-"

"Oh, poor Nick. Give him my love, won't you?"

"Yes, when I see him, but right now I need-"

"Oh, right! Let me see who's available... oh. Wolford's free, would he do?"

"Yes. Great. Have him meet me as soon as possible." With that, she fed him the address and hung up. It was a long wait in the eternal dark and cold of Tundra Town (actually only about an hour) before Wolford pulled up in his cruiser.

"Evening, Judy, Ni- Oh. Where's Nick?"

"He's in hospital, but he's okay. I hope."

"What? Nick's... ahem. Not that I care, or anything. I mean, obviously I care, if he's in hospital, I just... erm... shall we get started?"

"Right, Wolford. The-"

"Lucie."

"What?"

"My name. Well, it's short for my name. Lucious. It's... what Nick calls me. Actually, no, call me Lucious, well, erm. Whatever makes you comfortable."

"Okay... Lucious. If you're done, we're looking for an arctic fox. Jirard Willis approximately three feet tall including ears, silver-white fur, blue eyes, aged 27. Last seen yesterday around-"

"Yesterday?! And we're already looking for him? He'll probably show up on his own."

"There's been a lot of disappearances lately. The chief wants it kept quiet to avoid mass panic, but predators have been dissappearing all over the city, including a large number of fennecs. Three of which have already been found dead mere days after they were last seen. We think they might be connected somehow. But so far we haven't found anything. It's driving Nick crazy, and it's not doing me any favours either."

"If this is so serious, why isn't the whole force out on red alert? What is Bogo thinking?! Alright. Let's see what we can find."

"Right. His last known sighting was heading onto the ice fields just South of here. His friends thought he was heading out to practice his skating, but he never came home... Why is someone targeting such innocuous people? ... Sorry. Let's go."

"Don't apologise for sentementality. When you stop thinking that way, you'll stop being able to see the emotional threads that tie people together. Everything is relevant."

 

So out onto the ice fields they went together, into the biting wind and sheer cold unfettered by the walls of the buildings in town. The snow was really coming down; if their own footprints were lost in a few seconds, how could they hope to find any trace of the missing fox? They passed carefully around the thin ice that had nearly claimed her and Nick just yesterday when Wolford's sensitive ears picked out a faint buzzing through the howling wind. 

"Hm? What's that? There, over the ice, is that a coat?"

"You're right. Wait, I think that's Nick's coat. Oh, his phone's okay afterall!"

"Should we stop and get it?"

"Perhaps we should. Before we forget. Nick would probably kill me."

They proceeded with extreme care, not knowing where the ice started under their feet. With every step, they tested the ground ahead with as much weight as they dared, before deciding if it was safe to proceed. At length, they did make it to Nick's coat, albeit without any way of taking it with them. I mean, they could carry it, but would probably need both their arms each for their work. Judy fished his phone out of the coat pocket and found several texts from an increasingly worried Finnick, as made evident by just the few opening words of each that could be read without truly violating her partner's privacy. She switched the phone to silent and pocketed it before she and Wolford made their way back over the ice, scouring everything within range of sight or hearing or scent for anything that could be a clue. The storm was still blocking out the sun, and was getting progressively worse, more severe. Wind sharper, more snow, deeper cold. They were nearly rendered blind, and so they held hands tightly to avoid losing each other in this infernal blizzard. Literally infernal, as it was alike to the howling wind and freezing cold of Dante's Cocytus. The ninth circle. The ninth hell. Truly this was where they were, all sense of place or reason lost to them as their senses were stolen by the cold. Too dark the storm to see, too loud the wind to hear, too cold the air to smell. In this wintery void they wandered, praying that they held a true path, straight and linear. May it not be a path that winds back upon itself, endlessly spiralling, unable to escape, trapped forever within the confines of one's own pacing. Just as all hope of ever seeing the sun again faded, there it was, bright and cheerful. The storm had passed and now they could see once again. Once again they were blinded by the whiteness of the snow all around them. They had walked so far, in fact, that this was all they could see. Even their footprints were gone now, and with them, any hope of knowing were they had come from and where they would go. Judy was at her limit and flopped her hopeless form onto the frozen ground, with Wolford not far behind her. But with the cold air clearing, Wolford could smell again. What was that, off in the distance? That was foot-smell! Oh, wonderous stench! Oh, foul perfume! Lead the way that we might get out of here.

"Judy, I've got something! Let's go!" He grabbed her hand and ran with it, before she could respond. Were all canidae this quick once they'd caught a scent? Or was it only Nick and Lucious who were this excitable? Still, it was the first good news she'd heard that day, so why should she care that he'd nearly ripped her arm from its socket and he dragged her in his wake?

 

At the trail's end was a single, lonely ice skate. Could it be Jirard's? It was monogrammed with his initials. 

"Wolford. Lucious, can you find the person who wore this skate?"

"Hm... maybe. Let me smell... Yeah. Yeah! Oh, no... this isn't just ordinary foot-smell, Judy. It's laced with panic like I've never smelt before. Whoever this was, they were more than just scared for their life. Way beyond that. I hope we're not too late."

Judy bit her lip gently as she followed Wolford into the part of Tundra Town across the ice fields from where they had previously been. He led her at a brisk walk down alleyway after alleyway, his pace steadily increasing as they got closer until...

"Oh no."

"What? What is it?"

"The scent, it's gone. There's no scent here at all. It's been scrubbed clean, this whole alleyway."

"Are you sure it's not just the snow?"

"No. I'm a timber wolf. We're built for hunting in snow like this. Short of crossing a river, I'd still smell something. All I smell here is disinfectant. No... industrial cleaning agent. The kind that can cut through anything. Blood, grease, all traces of scent or DNA. And look how tidy this place is. No alleyway should ever be this tidy."

"Hoo... okay. We know we're on the right track, then, don't we? They must have come through here and then hidden whatever they were doing."

"Yeah, I'd say so."

"So, where could they have gone? Into one of these buildings? Into the sewers?"

"Hmm... Well, I'd say we've got probable cause enough to start knocking on doors." 

They were quick to check behind both these forboding, metal doors, with the occupants of these competing restaurants being most helpful. But there was nothing. No sign of a struggle, and while clean, they lacked the suspiciously immaculate nature of the alley. Nor was there an entrance into the sewers, transit tunnels or any other underground network in this immediate vicinity. They stepped out of the alley onto the street, defeated. Yet it was fortunate they felt defeated, for Wolford saw under their feet a very, very slight amount of damage to the sidewalk, as though a tiremark had been scrubbed away, leaving only this trace. Of course, there was no telling how old it was, what sort of tire had left it as the mark was gone, or even if it was related to their search.

"Let's go back and ask those restauranteurs if they saw anything." Judy suggested.

"Good idea."

But to no avail: whether true or not, they all insisted that they had seen nothing. Having heard all this, an orphan leopard from the next alley over crawled out of his miniscule cardboard box and approached them as Wolford headbutted the walls over and over.

"I saw what happened." Sounded his tiny voice. He was not even as tall as Judy, and absolutely dwarfed by Wolford. His grey-brown fur barely covered by rags.

"Oh, you must be freezing! You poor thing. Here, take my... oh, I don't have my coat. Take Wolford's coat."

"What?"

"Oh, come on, Lucious. He'll catch his death."

"Okay. Here you go, kid."

"Thanks, mister!" He beamed.

"Okay, sweetheart. Tell us what happened here and we'll get you something hot to eat. How's that sound?"

"Great!" It was clear he hadn't eaten in quite some time. How was he surviving this cold? Snow leopard or not, there are limits.

"Okay, kid. Start by telling us your name." Said Wolford, taking out his pad and pen.

"Alex."

"Okay, Alex. Tell us what happened here, the night before last. Did you see an arctic fox?"

"Yeah! He wasn't much bigger than me, and he ran through here, and these big guys were chasing him. There was an otter and a tiger and a dingo and a hyena. They beat him up and they threw him in the back of this van and it drove off with him and the otter and dingo stayed behind and started spraying this weird chemical everywhere, then they paid the cooks to keep quiet. They'll do it, too. Those cooks are dicks!"

"Ahem, what?" Judy was not used to hearing a child swear, especially not one this cute.

"I said they're dicks! They never give me anything to eat, even though I'm starving. Who doesn't wanna help a starving kid?"

"Did they say anything, kid?"

"Yeah, they said 'no you can't have something to eat. Get lost, you little wanker!'"

"They said _that_?! To a kid?!"

"Yeah, and they've said worse, too."

"Forget all that. Did the thugs say anything when they took the arctic fox?"

"No. Sorry, mister."

"Do you have any idea where they could've gone?"

"Not really, but this one guy had a lapel pin with the logo of this place downtown. The Overture. Place looks swanky. Shiny, pink curtains and flashy lights. But they don't let kids in there for some reason. Just a bunch of rich old guys in cheap suits."

"If they wear cheap suits, how do you know they're rich?" Asked Wolford.

"It's the way they look down their noses at me. If I beg them, they'll glare at me worse than most folks, sometimes they'll even spit on me, but they won't kick me or come near me. Don't wanna catch street urchin, I guess."

"Sounds like a start. Thanks, kid. Come on, Judy."

"Hey! What about my food?!"

"Yeah, come on, Lucious. Don't be a... ahem. Don't be mean."

"Grown-ups talk weird. You already know I swear. Just call him a dick if he's being a dick."

"Officer Hopps doesn't like swearing."

"Tch. Weirdos. Come on, I'm freaking starving here."

"Alex, where are you sleeping? Where are your parents?"

"Anywhere dry and safe. Dead."

"Do you want us to take you to an orphanage?"

"Hell no! I don't wanna wait around forever to just be forgotten by all the adults. Everyone knows the system's broken. Even a brat like me."

"Tough break, kid. We're cops. End of the day, our duty is clear. Judy, take the kid for some soup or something while I call social services."

The kid wigged out and ran off before either of them could catch him. "He'll be back. Hello, scoial services? Yeah, I need to report a homeless kid..."

Judy wasn't sure if Wolford had done the right thing or not, but at least they had a lead now. The Overture. Why did that sound so familiar?


	7. Madness

Why is everything so... far away? It's ... warm here. 

Beep.

What's that sound? 

Beep.

There it is... again... where... is this?

Beep.

What's with these lights? And what's... this? Why... can't I move?

Beep.

Nick found himself to be like unto a floating thing. A cloud, perhaps? Or maybe it was more like he was on a cloud than being one. Drowsily he moved through waking dreams; a cloud sliding through a cloud. A mouth full of ... mouthfuls... of cotton and sleep fuzz. His arms weighed down by strange fluids, their movement encumbered by... wrongness.

"Mrrwrr???"

Things slowly oozed into focus... oil bleeding into a canvas, blotting together, producing shapeless forms and formless shapes. These blurred tones, ill-defined, marked over now with thin lines to reveal... blank, white walls stretching into the void. Bright lights, a distant humming. A dull, familiar rumble.

"Kevin, stop snoring." He tried to utter this, but his tongue was too heavy and dull to coordinate. His eyelids still drooped, fluttered, fell. His eyes lolled about, rolling back and forth, seldom capturing light. Slowly and with great difficulty, Nick turned his head to the right, his disobedient eyes refusing his command to open at first, before ultimately giving in to reveal patches of black and white, quite possibly Kevin's clothing and fur as he slumbered in a chair not far off. And what is that beeping? A knife through steel wool filling his head. Faster, slower, nearer, further...

Clickety-clump, clickety-clack, getting nearer, getting nearer. 

"Good morning, Officer Wilde. Are we awake yet?"

"Hrrmryrrr...?"

"Still drowsy, I see." A bright light shone into his face, burning, stinging. "Eye-response is limited." Scritch-scratch, scritchety-scratch. "Let's reduce that sedative drip, so I can talk to you, hmm?"

Slowly at first, things began to come into focus. Who knows how long it was? It felt both a brief moment and several long hours. The floatiness reduced, his vision cleared, his limbs lightened. A fox stood over him in a long, white coat. His fur was a lighter red, more yellowy than Nick's own. His eyes, from behind glinting spectacles (small and squareish, quite stylish) flashed a deep indigo, nearly black.

"Where... am I?" His throat was dry and scratchy, but at least he could speak. He tried to sit up in bed, but found his wrists bound by harsh, leather straps. "What is this?! Why am I strapped down?! Let me go! Let me go!"

"Relax, Nick. You're safe here. I'm Doctor Carmine. You're in a hospital."

"A hospital?! No! I can't be here. I won't die in a hospital, doctors poking and prodding around inside me. Let. Me. Go." Nick began to struggle in earnest, thrashing against the ties that bound his wrists and ankles.

"Stop struggling, you'll open your stitches." The doctor was holding him down at this point, yet retained his calm demeanour. "Please, try to remain calm. You are not going to die here, I assure you."

"Yeah?! Why the hell should I trust you?! Why am I strapped to this bed? What's going on? I don't understand." 

Here, Kevin joined the conversation, having been woken by Nick's incessant bleating. His hand warm and steady against Nick's shoulder, opposite the doctor. "Nick, be calm my friend. No harm will come to you in this place. Remember why we came here."

"But, Kevin, I-"

"Listen to your friend, Nick. I've not lost a patient yet, and I don't plan to start now. If you don't calm down, you'll leave us no choice but to sedate you."

"Please don't." Nick began to tremble; a combination of anxiety and fatigue. He wanted to keep fighting, but his strength failed him and he fell back against the bed.

"There, now. Much better. So, how are you feeling?"

"How am I feeling?! I'm strapped to a bed in a place I'm being held against my will and I- khmm! Htkhm..." The coughing went on for some time, and was quite painful, but produced no phlegm this time.

"Easy, now. You have contracted pneumonia due to a bacterial infection. You'll likely be quite weak for a while. Try to stay calm and concentrate on your breathing. We've given you antibiotics and an analgesic for the fever. I've stopped the sedative we gave you to help you sleep, but you may still be drowsy for a while. Are you in any pain?"

"..."

"Don't be stubborn, tovarisch. Answer the doctor's question." Kevin's Russian roots rarely came out, unlike his colleague Koslov, but it was nevertheless soothing and familiar for reasons that will not be here disclosed. Returning to the matter at hand, Nick had a burning, stabbing pain up and down the right-hand side of his chest. Not that he was going to tell _him_ that.

"Nick, or would you prefer I address you as Officer Wilde? Perhaps Mister Wilde. If you're in pain or discomfort, tell me and I'll see what I can do."

"..."

"NICK!" Kevin roared, startling the doctor, but barely affecting Nick.

"Mister Dmitrievich, if you harrass my patient, I will have to have you removed. Nick, if you refuse to answer my questions, I can't help you, and you'll have to stay here forever."

"What? That's a lie!"

"Ah, he speaks. So, pain?"

"... ... ... Yes. But it's not so bad, you could probably let me go."

"Really? So what if I do this?" Doctor Carmine gently pressed one finger against the right of Nick's chest, barely touching him.

"Ah! Fuck! Okay, fine, I'm in pain. Horrible, burning pain. Tch. What does it take for me to get out of here?"

"First, convince me you're no danger to yourself or others. And that you're well enough to subsist. At present, I'm not convinced of either. Now, would you like me to give you something for the pain?"

"No. Thank you, but I'm fine."

"Come now. You must be very uncomfortable. The pain making it hard to breathe, perhaps?"

"If you want me to be comfortable, how about untying me?"

He arched his eyebrow, unconvinced. "You're not going to hurt yourself again, are you? We know those cuts were self-inflicted. And honestly, there's only so much thread in the world."

"Haha...ha. Just... how many stitches did you give me?"

"Not... too many... four-hundred-fifty-seven. Ahem. So, -"

"Four-hundred-fifty-seven!?"

"It honestly sounds a lot more than it is. I really do want to get on with this, Nick. And I do have other patients to attend, so do you want anything for the pain, or to help with the anxiety you're feeling? Which is completely normal, by the way. Nosocomephobia is very common."

"I... guess. Nothing too strong, though, right?"

"I'll give you a small dose of morphine. You just relax. You may experience some nausea." As soon as the needle had pierced the drip, all that tension washed away. The pain evaporated and Nick was able to relax, a slight twinge of doubt entered his mind that, given his history with similar chemicals, allowing this into his system may have been a mistake. Not that the doctor could have known this, of course. Very few people did. But that worry too soon faded.

"hmm... that's the stuff."

"What was that? You don't have a drug problem, do you?"

"Mm... nope."

"Is that a lie?"

"Nope."

"I'll be back later to check on you. If you need anything, just-" Nick was sleeping again, breathing gently and filled with a soothing warmth that radiated from his chest. "When he wakes up, see that he eats something. He'll probably be dehydrated too." Kevin grunted his assent and opened his book; an anthology from the homeland of his grandparents and Doctor Carmine returned to his rounds, hoping for more cooperative patients.

 

Judy had chased Alex for three blocks before he eluded her, somehow vanishing into the mist. She and Wolford had returned to precinct one and filed Jirard's lost skate under evidence before requisitioning a warrant to search the Overture. I'll spare you the tedious details, but it was quite late at night by the time she'd gotten home. Exhausted she slumped her weight against the door, closing it behind her.

"Where the holy fuck have you been?!"

"Oh. Hey, Finnick."

"Judy? Where the hell's Nick? You've been gone all of yesterday, all of today. No texts, no nothing. Do you assholes know how worried I've been?! Nick doesn't even have health insurance! Fucking idiot, working one of the most dangerous jobs there is without insurance. What if something happens to him?! Fuck!"

"Wait, what? Nick has insurance. All ZPD officers do."

"What? He said... HE FUCKIN' LIED TO ME?! BASTARD! WHO THE HELL DOES HE THINK HE IS?!" Finn started pounding on the door, screaming in an incoherent rage until tears began to pour down his cheeks. His rage now overwhelmed by sorrow, he joined Judy in her door-slump. Judy placed her hand on his nearest shoulder.

"Why would he lie to me, Judy? Doesn't he... doesn't he trust me?"

"He's afraid of hospitals, Finn. He probably just didn't want you to see him as weak."

"But... but... I'm the one he tells everything!" He began to choke on his words. "What the hell, Nick? Where are you?"

"He's... in hospital. His cuts got infected."

"What? Moron! I said they needed stitches. Why doesn't he listen to me?!"

"He doesn't listen to anyone. You know him."

"I hate him! I-I love him, but he's just so..."

"Frustrating?" Their eyes met, as if seeing each other for the first time.

"Which hospital?"

"I don't know. Kevin took him."

"Kevin?! That ice-crabbing snow-honky's gonna try 'n' steal my man!"

Judy snorted back a laugh but gave in to it, clutching her sides and trembling silently.

"What the hell's so funny?!"

"Ice-crabbing snow-honky? What does that even mean?"

Finn cracked up and so shared in the moment. They sat together, laughing for a full minute, both far more exhausted than they were willing to divulge.

When the laughing ceased, Judy remembered something. "Oh! Finn, I've got Nick's phone. He lost it yesterday, saving me from drowning."

"What?! Idiot! No wonder his cuts got infected."

"He was very brave."

"He was reckless and stupid! Gimme his phone a sec, I'mma call Kev."

"Kev?"

"Yeah, he hates me calling him that. Hehe."

"When you see Nick, don't be too hard on him, okay?"

"What? You think I can't control my anger or somethin'?! Oh, no, Finnick's just a tiny, angry little man, right? Do you think I'm dangerous, huh? That I'd hurt my best friend, my lover, my heart? Is that what you think, Judy?! Is it?!"

"No, no. I didn't say any of that."

"Oh, so now I'm over-reacting, am I?"

"Yes! You're completely over-reacting. You're mad at Nick and you're taking it out on me. Christ! Get some anger management training, before you fly off the handle and actually hurt someone."

"You... really think I'm dangerous?"

"Not... exactly. Just... kinda... ... short tempered?"

Finn was taken aback at this, but remained mostly calm. "Fuck this. Wanna get wasted?"

"Not really. Besides, I have work tomorrow."

"Right, right... wanna get high? I've got some pot in my van."

"What? No! Finn, I'm a cop."

"Yeah, so? It's legal now."

"And I'm on active duty. I can't have anything like that in my system, I could hurt someone. Even if I don't, do you know how many protocols I'd be breaking? How much trouble I'd get in?"

"Only if you get caught. Come on, live a little."

"Hey. I live plenty. Sometimes when I'm alone I dance in my undewear. Oh, gosh! Forget I said that."

"Pfft. That's nothin'. C'mon. Let loose. If you're gonna hang with me, I'm gonna see your wild side. Put on some thrash metal, smash something, I don't know. Get your freak on, girl!"

"Oh, I don't wanna bother the neighbours."

"Hahaha! I don't know how Nick dated someone this boring for as long as he did."

"Hey! I'm not boring. I'm just responsible."

"Pfft. Same thing."

"Oh, you wanna see crazy? I'll show you crazy." She stood up.

"Yeah, baby! Do it!" He got up and followed her as she headed to the kitchenette, grabbed a bottle of tequila and some shot glasses and declared "If you can't eat this lemon without wincing, you do a shot."

"Is that all you got?"

"Y-yeah?"

"Well, it's a start, but let's crank it up a notch. Um..." He rummaged through the fridge and produced a bottle of hot sauce. "How much of this can you handle without gagging?"

"Probably not much. Instead of stupid challenges, why don't we just start drinking? That's clearly the end point."

"Eh. Not as fun, but sure. You know any drinking games?"

"Just one. Never have I ever."

"Ugh. Pass. Not much I haven't done. Hahahaha!"

"I'm not even gonna ask."

"You still haven't shown me crazy."

"Okay, fine! I don't have a crazy side."

"Oh, come on. Everyone has a crazy side. What's the craziest thing you've ever done?" She shrugged. "You left your home, your family, everything you knew to come to a new, scary place and became the first bunny cop. That's pretty crazy, I'd say."

"You're right! So what if my crazy isn't the same as someone else's? Let's order a pizza to someone else's house!"

"Just one? That's barely an inconvenience. Why not ten?"

"Why not ten?! Why not fifty!"

"Hn. There she is! Go bigger!"

"Um..."

"Don't think about it! Just friggin' do it!"

"Let's... let's... let's go clubbing! On a work night! Let's come home at three in the morning or not at all! Let's get drunk and go night-fishing! Or skinny-dipping! Or... or... slap a stranger in the face!"

"Hell yeah! Slappin' a stranger might be a step too far, but screw it, let's go nuts!"

Exhilerated and utterly caught in the moment, Judy downed the entire bottle of tequila, still waiting in her hand. Finn was agasp with disbelief; wide-eyed and blinking. "C'mon, Finn! Let's paint the town red! In fact, I will have some pot! I can do everything tonight, no regrets, to hell with the consequences, Finn! Like I'm gonna get caught anyway! I'll get all my crazy out at once, and even if I never do this again it won't matter. No regrets! Let's live like we'll die if we don't!"

"You, uh, might wanna slow down, there, Judy."

"Pfft. All your talk of crazy and you're chickening out on me? You're not gonna let me go out on my own, are you? Hehe..."

"You're already drunk, aren't you?"

"Yyyep!"

"Don't make me be the voice of reason, Judy. Just-"

"Nope! No reason tonight, Finn! Just give me five minutes to get changed. Hehe... I never have any fun. Ooh! I can wear that sparkly dress with the sequens!"

"Sounds garish. Meet me in the van, I'm gonna put on my _fancy_ bowling shirt."

Six minutes later (even a minute late is odd for Judy, so she must really be letting loose), they met in Finn's crappy little van. Judy was weaing her promised dress; bright red and so sparkly it seemed to glow pink with (relatively) high heels that complimented the colour. It was a tight-fitting, strapless cut with a slit from the left thigh, stopping mid-shin. She wore a choker to match, adorned with a single purple lotus to bring out her eyes. The makeup was modest, designed to highlight her natural beauty.

Finn let out a low whistle at the sight of her. "Damn, girl. You clean up nice. Wan' a cookie?"

"Yes, please. Oh, and you look very smart. Black's really your colour. I can see why Nick likes you so much. Hehe."

Flustered, Finn shoved a cookie in his face. Out of consideration to his friend, they were a particularly mild batch. They sat in the front seats; Judy nibbling her biscuit while Finn drove them off into the night.

 

They arrived at what was essentially nightclub district; the whole street and the next three in each direction lit up with neon and flashing lights. Judy was still pretty excited; combination booze and, um, cookies having calmed her nerves. She dragged Finn to the first club that caught her eye: The Lucky Rose. The decor was predominantly pink and red, and mostly modelled after roses. Rose print tablecloths, rose-shaped lights, roses carved into the banisters that lead upstairs. Hell, the bar even seemed to be made from rosewood. The patrons were mostly women, with a few men scattered around. There was room to dance, and the music wasn't overwhelming. It was up-tempo and easy on the ear.

Judy grabbed Finn and started spinning around relentlessly, laughing like a mad thing. Just when Finn felt his head was about to pop off, she stopped, still laughing, and clutching her knees. "Oh, Finn, I don't remember the last time I laughed like this!"

"That's great, Jude. Can we sit down for a minute?"

"To the bar!"

"Ow! Right in my friggin' ears!"

They hopped (Finn slightly awkwardly) onto the barstools and were greeted by a slender vixen with dark red fur the colour of mahogany. "Looked like you were havin' fun. This your date, sugar?"

"Uh, no. She's just a friend."

"That's great, hon, but when I talk to you you'll know it. The name's Ruby. What can I get you two?"

"Get me somethin' hard."

"Haha! Pity Nick's not here! Woooo!"

"Oh my god, Judy. I am too sober to deal with this right now."

"Let her have some fun. I like a girl with a spirit." Ruby leaned over the bar and winked before turning to the bottle racks. "Whiskey okay, hon?"

"Uh, yeah. Thanks."

"And what about you, sugar?" Judy giggled manically and ordered a rosé. Finn made a mental note to never, ever goad Crazy Judy back into existence again. As they drank, Finn leaned over and whispered to Judy.

"Psst. Ruby is totally flirting with you."

"Hehehe... no way."

"Yeah. You feelin' her vibe?"

"Hehehe... maaaaaaybe. Hehe. Nah. I don't know. Maybe that's _too_ crazy."

"Well, it's up to you, but half the eyes here are on you, and none of them male."

"Really?"

"Yeah, based on that and the ratio, I'd say this is probably a lesbian bar."

"Oh. Oops. Didn't notice. Hehe. Should we go?"

"Let me finish my drink first, 'kay?"

"Nah. Bored now. Let's go somewhere new!" Even as Judy grabbed his wrist, Finn pounded down the last of his whiskey before being yanked out the door.

"'Kay, Jude. Where to next?"

"Um... ooh! That one has a lot of guys, let's go there."

"The Rainbow? Pretty sure that's a gay bar."

"So? You'll fit right in!"

"Ha. No. You wanna dance?"

"Yeah! Now come on before I lose my buzz."

"Okay, just don't try to kill me this time."

"Pfft haha! You'll be lucky. Ooh! Let's go to the park!"

"I guess I'm still good to drive. Ish. Sure."

 

Thankfully, the roads were mostly clear of traffic and quite well lit, so with only three near-collisions, they arrived at the park. It was especially beautiful at night. Old-fashioned lights glowed over the cobblestone paths; trees and ponds every which way. The cool breeze kissed their large ears as they sat by the largest pond, the van parked on the turf nearby as Judy soaking her bare feet in the cool water. They leaned back on their hands, sharing a plate of Finn's cookies between them. Once he was sufficiently baked, Finn spawled out on the cool grass and watched the heavens drift along peacefully and sighed contentedly. Judy watched whistfully as a couple's silhouette on the bridge across the way leaned in together. She remembered how she and Nick had once stood where they were standing, watching the moon and she wondered if he'd ever shared that same spot with Finn. She studied them as they turned and walked away, asking how long they'd last, would either of them ever cheat on the other? What did their future hold? Would she ever have that again? Would it last next time? 

Finn barely noticed Judy stand, but he certainly noticed the splash a moment later. He snapped to attention, seeing her clothes neatly piled besides him.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

"Skinny-dipping, remember?"

He shook his head before disrobing as well saying "You crazy bunny" as he did so. So there they were, naked and utterly hazed; only the dark water to hide their shame. They laughed and splashed each other for a little while, before a moment of stillness fell between them. Judy looked at Finn, really looked at him. The moon reflecting in his large, brown eyes. The shape of his ears, his face, his... lips. Acting on impulse, she leaned in and kissed him. For a moment, she thought he'd kiss her back, but then he recoiled in horror, pushing her away.

"What the hell, Judy?!" He scrambled for the shore, getting dressed in a hurry.

"I'm sorry, Finn. I-I don't know what came over me. It's just, you looked... I'm sorry."

"Like hell you are! You really think I'd do that to Nick?! You're lucky I don't leave you here."

"Finn, look out!" Several figures were approaching them, and were attempting to grab the fennec when Judy... distracted them. A naked, screaming bunny can be very distracting. In that moment, Finn made for the van and grabbed his trusty baseball bat; almost as big as he was. He burst out, swinging for knees, skulls, whatever he could reach, which drew the attention back to him, and away from the rapidly redressing Judy who soon entered the fray. They were formidable in their partnership, back to back, striking out at any who dared enter the ring that marched their reach; yet that ring was steadily drawing closer.

Finn's van was smashed out of the way by a much larger vehicle, whose brilliant halogen lights flooded the area; dazing the duo for a second. In that second, two of these strangers grabbed Finn. He struggled to get free, twisting and biting. Judy, able to see once more, leapt as high as she could and kicked the wolf in the face; releasing Finn's legs. With his legs free, Finn swung around and scratched his assailant's arms. With a yelp he let go, allowing Finn to maul the dingo's face. 

"Wait, Sandy?! The fuck is this?! The fuck's going on?!"

"You're a liability, Finnick." Spoke a voice from the crowd. Out of the shadows stepped an extremely tall and well-built fox with blood-red fur. Meyhew. As he approached them, his goons backed off; giving him a wide berth in which to speak. "I open my hand in invitation and lo! I am stung by rejection's bitter taste. After all I've done for you and Nicholas. You were part of our family, and yet you are now in league with those who hold us down with the chains of society's lies. Lies of freedom. Lies of support. Lies that force us to conform, deny our true nature and so don these masks you so despise. It is our mission to return the world to its truest form. Clearly, you will now impede us and so must be removed. But, I am not without dignity. I will allow you this chance to, if not rejoin us, simply don't get in our way. Consider this a warning."

"Sorry, Finn. It's for the best to just do as he says."

"Meyhew Overturio. Are you the one responsible for the recent disappearances occuring throughout the city?"

"Judy, now is not the time..."

"Ah, the venerable Judy Hopps. Carrot farmer turned officer turned hero. I believe you formerly lived in one of my buildings. I do hope your new residence is to your liking."

"You... know who I am."

"I make it my business to know everything that happens in my city. As for those disappearances, I am truly horrified to hear about this turn of events. I'm sure Zootopia's finest can solve this in due course. In fact, I'm counting on it."

"And yet, I have an eyewitness account that marks one of the abductors as wearing a lapel pin from one of your businesses."

"Am I to be responsible for everyone who wears something of mine, and all of their actions? My goodness. You'll have to do better than that. I'd hate to have to tell your chief that you've been harrassing a public figure without due cause. Why, it might even cost you your badge. And how is young Nicholas? He was always one of my favourites." 

Finn lost it upon hearing these words and leapt at Overturio. "You bastard!" he screamed, only to be slapped out of the air like it was nothing.

"Finn! Are you okay?" Judy rushed to him and cradled his head.

"'M fine. Don't take your eyes off the son of a bitch. He can't be trusted for two seconds."

"Oh, Finnick, I'm hurt. Wounded, even. You were like my own sons."

"Didn't stop you from pushing Nick towards oof!" Overturio kicked Finn in the gut to silence him. 

"Oops. How clumsy of me. I pray you don't hold it against me. Now if you'll excuse me, it's rather late. I'm sure we'll have another chance to conclude this chat. Tah-tah!" Him and his men walked away, and he waved nonchalantly as he did so.

"Wait! Overture! You can't get away with this! You just tried to abduct Finn!"

"Your word against mine. Bye!"

With that last frustrating remark, they piled into the back of that truck and vanished quickly. Finn's van still worked fine, though was rather badly dented on the left side. Their evening sufficiently ruined, they returned home to bed.


	8. Control

Light streamed from the afternoon sun through the window overlooking Nick's bed. Dust motes danced, drifting slowly to and fro. He slept on, the sedatives and painkillers having given way to a natural sleep at last. His breathing was steady, if a little fast. Each one carried with it a slight wheeze, yet as he slumbered he seemed comfortable. Serene. Almost too peaceful, thought the visitor sitting where Kevin had sat just a few hours ago before being called away on business. This visitor was Finnick. When he called the ice bear for his boyfriend's whereabouts, his intention had been to give Nick an earful. But sitting there now, watching his beloved so close to death, but for the steady and reassuring beeps of the heart monitor... it wasn't quite accurate to say he'd forgiven him, but... he just looked so frail, so fragile, Finn just wanted to protect him. He could always yell at him later if necessary. 

Finn sat there in silence, anxious ears flat against his head; knees pulled to his chest, his frantically beating heart. He rocked steadily back and forth, fiddling with his fingers: meshing them together, pulling them apart, twiddling his thumbs, biting his finger, biting his lip, pulling his ears. Never sitting still. Never maintaining one sign of anxiety for more than a few seconds. Behind brown eyes, his cogs were whirring non-stop, uncontrollably repetitive. 

'He looks so weak. He's always been strong, but he looks so weak. Why did this happen now? He's going to pull through - he's always been strong. But he looks so weak. Pull it together, Finnick. He's going to be fine; he has to be. We have to yell at him later. If he doesn't pull through, who will I lecture? Who will I hold? Will I ever hear him laugh again? No. He's going to be fine. He has to be fine. But what if he's not? I can't be alone again. I won't. But we won't be alone, Nick'll be there. But what if he's not? Please, God. If you're there, just let me say I love you one more time. Just let me see his eyes one more time. Forget it. No one's listening, and even if they were, why'd a deity help a lowlife like me? Please be okay, Nick. He looks so weak...'

This would have continued ad infinitum, had Doctor Carmine not come in, startling Finn out of his reverie. 

"Doctor! Is he gonna be okay? What can I do to help? When can I take him home?"

The good doctor was shocked slightly by the intensity and ferocity of the little one (don't tell him I called him that, he'd gut me). The only indicator of his surprise was a brief moment where his eyes widened a fraction before he regained his composure.

"Relax. Your... friend... will be just fine. We've given him antibiotics and morphine for the pain."

Finn sighed with relief, before the doctor's words fully-registered and he flew into a rage, jumping out of his chair and waving his arms around wildly as he went into a tirade. "Morphine?! What kinda shit-show are you running here?! You muthafuckas can't give an addict morphine! WHAT. THE HELL. DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!?!" Somehow the fennec managed not to throw himself at the doctor with all the strength he could muster, instead picking up the chair and smashing it into the floor as hard as he could.

"Please, restrain yourself at once. This is a hospital, for god's sake." Finnick simply growled, his hackles raised. "Listen, I understand your concern. If I'd known about this, I never would've administered it, but he is something of an enigma. No medical records since he was eight, no known family history, no account of the last twenty-three years. Nothing. He-"

"YOU THINK THAT'S AN EXCUSE?! DID YOU EVEN ASK?!"

All the hullaballoo roused Nick from his slumber. "... uhn... Finn? 'S 'at you? Hey, big guy. What's... uhh... what's happening?"

"Nick." The concerned fuzzball rushed to his side and clutched his hand. "Are you okay, babe? Why did this _quack_ give you morphine?"

"Huh? ... Hey, doc..."

"ANSWER ME!" Finn was shaking beside Nick, almost in tears from his impudent rage.

"The short answer is I offered him morphine for the pain, while he was completely lucid, mind you, and he gave no indication of his past... issues. After the dose he said something odd but..." He trailed off, scared into silence by the sheer force of Finnick's glare. This is it, he thought. This is how I die. But instead, he was saved by his patient as Nick's slow-moving hand had found its way to Finn's right ear and started rubbing his thumb in slow, soothing circles. Finn looked at him and saw that Nick was smiling from beneath barely opened eyes. He curled up into Nick's side and began sobbing gently.

"Why, Nick? Why did you let him do it? Why did you lie?"

Nick's voice was barely audible and slightly scratchy, but he seemed more aware of his surroundings. "'M sorry, Finny. Moment of weakness... I just... wanted the pain to stop... I'm sorry." His face was wet, though he wasn't crying.

"Why did you lie to _me_?"

Nick held him a little closer, despite the pain it brought to his right side. "I... was ashamed. Afraid. Afraid of..." Instead of finishing his thought, Nick just breathed, long and slow, clearly holding something back.

"If I may? Nick has rather extreme nosocomephobia, so-"

"The hell is that?"

"A fear of hospitals. We had to sedate him just so he wouldn't hurt himself. Until a few hours ago, he was strapped to the bed."

"Just like Judy said... idiot!" He smirked. "You should've known you can trust me."

"Sorry, babe... I do. Hn. I do. Like we're getting married. Would you like that?"

"Christ! How much did you give him?!"

Doctor Carmine adjusted his glasses, a nervous habit of his. "This... might actually be the fever talking. Though we did provide him with analgesics."

"Hey... doc. When can I go home?"

The doctor sighed and pushed his glasses even further up the bridge of his nose. "I'd advise you stay until your infection clears. But, knowing you'll probably fight me on this, I may be persuaded to release you."

Nick grinned and sat up (regretting it immediately). "Cool. What do I hafta do?"

The doctor merely shook his head. "Not you. You." He announced, pointing his pen at Finn.

"Me?"

"Yes, you. Do you promise to ensure he takes his medicine everyday?"

"Yeah."

"And you'll make sure he eats plenty, drinks enough and gets plenty of bedrest?"

"Sure."

"And you'll keep him off work for at least a week?"

"Now hold on-" Nick butted in.

"Zip it!" The pen now pointed at him, and the doctor's eyes hidden by the light reflecting off his glasses lending him an air of intimidation, Nick gulped.

"Yeah. I promise."

"Finn, come on, I've got a case to work."

"Not at the cost of your health, you don't." Nick knew there was no point in arguing. He could just sneak out, anyway. "And don't even think of sneaking out! I'mma watch you like a hawk."

"Well said. I see no issue with releasing him into your care (and out of my fur). I'll go and get his prescriptions and release papers. In the meantime, I'll have a nurse see to your cannula. Finn, was it?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you bring him anything to wear home?"

"I'll call Judy."

"Splendid!" Remarked the doctor as he left the room.

"Wait!" Nick hollered, and Carmine stuck his head back through the door. "What happened to my pajamas?"

"Oh, I'm afraid we had to cut them off your body. The pus... you were stuck to them."

"Ugh. Gross. I really loved those PJs. Kevin got me them."

"Oh he did, huh?" Finn queried in a suggestive tone.

Nick snorted. "Oh, don't tell me you're jealous. It was years ago."

"You slept at his place." Finn bared his teeth slightly.

"Yeah. In the guest room. Is that a problem?"

Finnick ground his teeth. "... No..."

"Then there's no problem." Finn had more, but at that moment the nurse arrived; a male raccoon with an extremely bushy tail. He was quick setting about his work while Finn texted Judy, telling her to grab some clothes. 

Seriously? I just found the vending machines, and now you want me to find my way back to that flithy van?

Don't u talk smack about my van!!! >:(

Fine. Anything for Nick. XXX

"Crazy girl sendin' me kisses."

"Hn? What's tha- Yaa!" Nick yelped as the nurse (Bert) removed the cannula (Nick picked the wrong moment to suddenly move his arm). He bled a little, but it was quickly staunched.

"That's what you get for moving." The nurse winked. Nick might have laughed if it hadn't hurt so much. "Oh, before you go, you need to go to the bathroom and eat something. Hospital policy."

"Ugh. Fine." Nick was unimpressed. When would this nightmare end?

"Can you go by yourself?" Nick balked at this... this... what is this? He stammered, blinked rapidly and more-or-less just sat there gawking. "Please tell me you're not having a seizure."

"I'm fine." Nick supposed it was part of the job to be so forward. Something the nurse had gotten used to, but that Nick certainly had not. "If I can stand alone, I can piss alone."

"You might have to do more than that."

"I'm not talking about this anymore." He swung his legs around and off the bed. This was it. His first steps in... how long? Maybe a day or two. That wasn't so bad, was it?

"Do you need help getting down?" Nick realised he'd been sitting there for a while. 

"I'm fine." He declared, his usual pride shining through. He leapt down (perhaps a bit too fast) and staggered a little before lurching right into Bert's open arms.

"Careful, now." Nick ignored him and stepped off on his own, slowly, slightly awkwardly, his breathing slightly troubled. But he did it. Nurse Sykes walked a little behind him and guided him to the facilities. Nick thought he might follow him _all_ the way, so made a point of slamming the door in his face.

Once he had gotten back to his room, and enough random people had seen his ass through that stupid gown, he found Judy there waiting for him with some of his old clothes from Finn's van and some Mars bars. Not his favourite candy, but it's better than hospital food, he imagined, having actually slept through all mealtimes. She greeted him with a hug, naturally.

"Oh, Nick... how have you been? Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah. Much better. Doctor says I can come back to work tomorrow."

"Not so fast!" Finn interjected. "To me, it sounded like he wanted you to spend the next week in bed." Even Judy gave him her disapproving glare at this. He just shrugged, his usual sly grin plastered across his face.

"What? Can't blame a guy for trying."

Judy was smiling warmly, but then she began to frown. "Nick, are you crying? What's wrong?"

"Huh? Nothing's wrong, I'm not crying." He rubbed his cheek and his hand came away damp. "What is this?" His hand was trembling slightly, too. But then it stopped.

 

The next day passed uneventfully, and painfully slowly for Nick, who was itching to get back to work. But he took his antibiotics like a good boy. He spent most of the day reading, barely able to focus on the pages, let alone the words thereupon. He was tired, so he and Finn went to bed early. Like eight pm early. 

Finn had lain awake on-and-off for much of the night, he may or may not have slept, but wasn't sure. It was partly for going to bed so early, but mostly it was because he was worried about his precious Nick. Especially when in the early hours he found that Nick was tossing and turning beside him. Shaking in his sleep, groaning, crying out.

Finn gently caressed Nick's back. "Nick, baby, you okay?"

"F-Finn... it h-hurts. My... stomach. Gn... gnr... I... I've got the shakes, Finn. Oh, god, it hurts. I need it, Finn... oh... hn... gg... kk... I need it." Finn rolled the trembling fox over so he could look him in the eye.

"No." He said firmly. "No. You're gonna be okay, Nick. You don't need that shit. I'm gonna get you through this, even if it is your own damn fault." He pulled Nick's juddering form closer, cradling his head against Finn's breast; hoping his heart's gentle breathing would help to calm him. Nick's face was damp again, and Finn couldn't tell if he was crying from the pain, or the shame, or if his eyes were just watering from the withdrawal. "Three days, and you'll be fine. Three days, Nick. We've done it before, we can do it again. Remember?" He gently kissed Nick's crown. "The first time we got together?" Kiss. "Spent three days distracting each other." Kiss. "We've been clean for damn near eighteen years. No need to fuck that up now."

Nick stilled. Calmed. His breathing was more even, less ragged. He was still shaking, but nowhere near as badly. "You're right, Finn. I'll be fine. I'm just gonna go get some water, okay?"

"Sure, babe."

Nick stood up and left the room. Finn relaxed for a moment, then he heard the window open in the living room. He ran out as fast as he could, but Nick was gone; curtains flapping in the breeze. "Son of a bitch! JUDY!!!!"

"What? What? What's going on?" She was dressed in a nightgown and fuzzy slippers.

"Nick got out the fire escape. He's having a relapse!" He cried as he leapt out the window and raced down the cold, metal stairs.

"Is it his drinking?" Judy asked in his wake.

Finn shook his head. "Heroin." 

They reached the street and Finn quickly grabbed his bat from the van. "First I'm gonna save him, then I'm gonna kill him."

"Whoah! Calm down, Finn."

"No time to calm down. Come on, he can't run too fast with that bad lung."

 

Nick was two streets over, hugging his bare arms and chest as he shivered his way towards a hyena down that dark, lonely alley.

"Well, someone's strung out. Nyeheh. Nyehahaha!" Ugh. Typical. Way to kill the stereotype, guy.

"Y-yeah. Do you, do you have... hrrrr... he-heroin?"

The hyena opened his trench coat, revealing several rows of needles sown to the inner lining. His eyes were shining and darting around, seeing everything and nothing above his permanent rictus grin. "Heh heh... Purest you'll ever see... heh. Medical grade."

Nick reached out one trembling hand towards this treasure, only for the hyena to close his coat again and deny him. "Ah-ah-ah... heha... money first."

"I'm wearing pajama pants and nothing else. Do you really think I have money on me?"

"Heheh... good point. Bye." He turned and walked away from the bewlidered fox.

"Wait! Please. I can pay you in... other ways." The hyena turned back towards him.

"Oh...? Hehe." He whipped out his large member, slightly barbed at the tip. "Payment first."

"Oh, come on. I-I've got the shakes, you can see that. You really want me to bite your dick off by accident?"

"Hehe. Good point. But you try to run and I'll break your legs. Nyehahaha!!!" He produced a needle from within the confines of his coat and offered it to Nick, only for Finnick to appear and smack it out of his hand with his heavy, steel bat.

"Hey!" The hyena shrieked, but before he could speak further, Finn leapt into the air, spinning around with the bat extended. Crack! Right to the jaw. As soon as he landed, he swept the guy's legs out from under him and brought the bat down as hard as he could on his exposed dick. Blood everywhere. Then he started battering the hyena's ribs and chest as hard as he could. The crunching of ribs and the iron smell of blood filled the air; followed by a sickening squelching and the snapping of needles. The hyena started cackling as Finn's barrage continued. 

"Shut up!" Finn roared as the hyena's laughter continued. Before long, it descended to a gurgling, then a death rattle, then silence, but still Finn's rage was not sated. He continued beating the corpse for some time, until the ground, Finn's bat, his fur, his clothes, all was stained with blood and gore. When he stopped, the paste of meat and bone was unrecognisable. He breathed a deep sigh and his senses returned to him. Judy had been calling his name, but couldn't stop him; she was too busy holding Nick back from licking the spilt morphine and broken glass off the asphalt.

"This is bad, Finn, this is bad. I have to... I'm sorry, Finn."

"What? You gonna arrest me, Judy?"

"I have to! You... you killed him. Christ, look what you've done."

Finn moved towards her, yelling indingnantly. "I was saving Nick!"

"For god's sake, Finn! This is murder in the second degree." She sighed, shaking her head. "Please state your full name."

Finn decided to cooporate. He dropped his bat and knelt with his hands on his head. "Nathan Finnick." Judy took out her handcuffs and approached him. God knows why she had her handcuffs under her nighty, but she does take her job very seriously. 

"Nathan Finnick, I'm arresting you for murder in the second degree. You do not have to say anything, however it may harm your defense-"

"Wait!" Nick stood and rushed towards them. "Wait. Judy we can cover this up. No one saw us. There's no cameras here. He's a drug dealer; for all anyone knows it could've been gang violence."

"Two blocks from our appartment?"

"If anyone asks, we were asleep. Okay?" Judy said nothing. "Okay?!"

"No, Nick. This is wrong. I became a cop to stop things like this from happening."

"Well, it's too late to stop it now. You can't prevent the past."

Judy blinked back tears. "Nick, please. This is wrong. It's not just illegal, it's immoral."

He turned away. "Not the first time I've done something wrong."

"Nick, this isn't the same as hustling people for chump change-"

"I made two hundred dollars a day!"

"Not the point. You can't just-"

Finnick interupted her, his voice thick and heavy. "Nick, Judy, it's okay. I accept responsibility." Nick finally lost his cool and began to panic openly. 

"Finn, no. I'll never see you again. I won't let that happen! I can't! There's got to be a solution. There's always a solution. We just have to think."

Judy reached out to console him. "Nick..."

"No! We can fix this! We have to!" He tugged his ears and began pacing anxiously. "Okay. Here's what we're going to do. We were never here, okay?"

"Nick..."

"No, Judy! We were never. Here. Ever." She cowtowed to his aggression, rather begrudgingly, but she knew she'd cave eventually. She loved him too much to hurt him this way. She said nothing, simply bowing her head and flopping her ears. Nick turned to Finn next. "Finn, this can't be allowed to happen again. If it does, I won't be able to protect you. You _need_ anger management classes. You _need_ to find a way to control this."

"Tch. Hypocrite. How's that counsellor of yours?"

"Well, I was meant to meet them tomorrow, but it looks like I'll have to take a raincheck. Now, let's go home and bleach the shit out of anything with blood on it."

They marched home in silence, but for the sound of rain as the sky burst; seemingly in response to their pain. They clambered through the window and slammed it shut behind them. Judy bit her finger with one hand and pulled her ears with the other, while she wore a hole in the floor, pacing. Nick and Finn were in the bathroom, furiously scrubbing the blood out of Finn's pants and underwear, Nick occasionally stopping for coughing fits. They filled and emptied the sink at least five times before it ran clear. Finn hopped in the shower and spent at least forty minutes teasing the gunk out of his fur. The water was damn near scolding, but he didn't care, such was his festidiousness. Meanwhile, Nick continued to scrub the already clean garments, just to be sure. The bleachy water was burning his hands, but he didn't care. This was important. Once he was satisfied, he rinsed everything off with cold water, but his pads were pink in places from the harsh chemicals. Finn's bat was beyond cleaning, regrettably. No matter how much he scurbbed, flecks of pink and orange were visible; stuck in the grain of the metal. It would have to be destroyed. Or buried in the desert. It was stolen a long time ago, so there was nothing actually tying it to Finn. Maybe he'd just throw it in the river. He knew this was his fault. Not Finn's. Not anyone's but his. If he hadn't wigged out and gone chasing old habits, this wouldn't have happened. That made it his responsibility. He only hoped Finn could forgive him.

Finn was careful to let the tears fall silently. He watched the blood run down the drain and knew this was his doing. It certainly wasn't Nick's. You can't blame the addict for being an addict. There was a gory knot in his fur that wouldn't come loose, he pulled it out in a matted lump. It hurt, but it felt good. Right. Deserved. He'd always been angry, as long as he could remember, but he'd never hurt someone like that before. Never lost it like that. He couldn't even remember where this pain came from. It was a part of him now. A ball of rage and hate that filled half his heart. He knew he'd never be rid of it, so he had to control it. It was his responsibility. Finn turned his face towards the shower head and let it poor into his eyes until they were sore and rheumy. Nick was right. He had to get help, before this could happen again. He only hoped Nick could forgive him.


	9. Healing

It sucks feeling like your chest is being crushed by a sack of bricks, but hey, at least you can lie in when you're sick. Nick woke to sunlight splitting the dark; a beam through slightly parted curtains. Finnick was curled up next to him, breathing softly. It was amusing to compare the adorable fennec's sleeping form with the brusque, carefree, angry... I mean passionate man that was his lover. Nick reached out a hand to gently stroke Finn's chest, where the fur was slightly thicker. He hadn't meant to wake him, but murder and mayhem makes for light sleep.

"Hmm... Nick?" He yawned. "What time is it?"

Nick smiled softly with tired eyes and nuzzled his noze against Finn's ears, holding him closer. "No idea. Not that it matters. I just wanna curl up with you all day."

"H-yeah. So I see." 

"Hn?"

"Mornin' wood, babe." Somehow, Nick hadn't noticed the growing bulge in his own pants. Still, he wasn't one for being bashful and so decided to show off. Reclining with a mischeivous smirk, he gently palmed himself through the soft fabric. 

"Woke me up just for that, huh? A'ight, but I'mma hafta punish you." Nick bit his lip gently, but his eyes sparkled with anticipation. 

"You remember our safeword, Nick?"

He swallowed. "Y-yeah." A shiver ran through his body at the sound of Finn's, deep, commanding voice.

"Okay, you bad boy. Drop the pants and get in position. Someone needs a spanking." Without question or hesitation, Nick aquiesced; his heart all a flutter as he got on his hands and knees, freshly naked. Finn moved to stand behind him, gently squeezing one cheek in each hand, pulling them apart, running his hand along the length of Nick's tail. All this made Nick moan, which earned a sharp swat to his right cheek. Nick gasped, and arched his back.

"Don't make a sound without permission, bitch. Understand?" He slapped him again for good measure.

"Ah! Yes, sir!"

"Good boy. But you've still been naughty." He spanked Nick again, harder this time. He bit his lip to keep from moaning and thrust forwards before returning his ass for another swat. "Who said you could move?"

"Ah, sorry, sir!" Another slap. Each one harder than the last.

"Who said you could speak?" Three more swats as Nick fought every instinct telling him to move his body in response.

"No one, sir! Sorry, sir!" Another serious of swats. They were coming more slowly now; the space making them sting more. Notes spaced with brief silences to enhance their tone.

"You just don't learn, do you?" Nick remained silent. His body tried to shudder, but he denied it. Pre began to leak from his painfully unattended erection. Finn brought one finger gently to the tip, then to Nick's lips for him to taste. It was slightly nutty; bittersweet and aromatic. "You like that taste, boy?" Nick gave no response, so Finn swatted him. "Answer me!"

"Y-yes, sir. Oh..."

"Good boy. Want some more?"

Finn was gently fondling Nick's balls with one hand, tugging his tail with the other. "P-permission to speak, sir?"

"Hn. Granted."

"Yes, sir. P-please. I want more, I-I need you to-"

"That's enough" Nick's jaw clamped shut. "Okay, then. Blow yourself. I want to watch." Good thing I'm flexible, Nick thought as he spread his legs and went down on himself; heat flooding his entire body. Finn smirked and jerked himself over Nick's body; thoroughly enjoying the spectacle. He hopped off the bed and rumaged through the bedside table's draws; producing some disposable gloves and some lubricant. Nick was still at work, not yet having been told to stop. He was really geting into it, actually, as he was quite pent up. It came as quite a surprise, then, when moment's later searing pain struck his ass: Finn's whole arm.

"Ah! Jesus fuck, Finn!"

"You want me to stop, huh? Gonna use the safeword?" He asked, continuing to work Nick's ass, but slowing down a little to let him adjust.

"No..." 

"Alright then. Get back to work, then." Nick did so; nearly delirious with pleasure-pain when Finn punched his prostate; literally punched it, sending blasts of his jizz firing down his own throat. Finn yanked his arm out just as suddenly as he'd put it in, and Nick groaned at the loss. Finn growled into Nick's ear, soft, low...

"Who said you could cum?" Before Nick could answer, Finn took his short, fat cock and slammed it home, forcing his knot in and out with each thrust so that he was using his whole length. Nick was still panting from his first orgasm when Finn reached around Nick's body, between his legs and began massaging the slowly softening prick to wake it back up as he continued to fuck Nick harder than he'd fucked anyone before. Finn reached into Nick's sheathe to gently tug and squeeze his still expanding knot until it popped free again. Finn could tell from the way Nick's body began to tighten, especially his ass, that he was getting dangerously close. 

"You gonna cum?" Nick nodded. "Do it. Cum for me." Nick sprayed a second, much smaller load onto the bed and collapsed, panting heavily as Finn filled him up. Now they were both panting, exhausted, but wide awake. Nick curled his face into the soft pillow, Finn nuzzled the small of Nick's back. They lay there, contented, blissed out and utterly serene. 

Finn slid out and flopped down next to Nick who turned to face him before speaking between panted breaths.

"That... was pretty intense."

"Heh. Yeah. Nice way to wake up, though." He reached forward to caress Nick's sleepy-looking face (don't worry, the glove was gone - cast to the trash with all sense of decency) and kissed him gently. Nick kissed back, just as gentle. Just as soft, as tender. He pulled Finn's head into his chest and placed his chin on his crown, sighing contentedly. They could have simply lain there forevermore. Regrettably, life has a way of interupting these perfect moments. In this case, life took the form of Nick's cellphone. 

"Don't answer it, babe." Nick glanced lazily to the screen; it was a call from the chief.

"Tch. He picks his moments, doesn't he?" He slid to answer and brought the phone to his ear. "Morning, Buffalo-butt."

"Wilde. I told you to stop calling me that. It's unprofessional, crasse, and downright irritating."

"Yeah, well you spoilt the afterglow. That's pretty irritating too."

"Oh! I didn't need to know that. Just get your ass down here right now for your counselling session."

"Hmph. If I go right now, I'll probably get arrested." Bogo sighed, probably rubbing his eyebrows, if Nick were to hazard a guess.

"Obviously put some clothes on first."

Nick sat up in bed, one hand still with the phone. "Didn't Judy tell you? I'm sick. No work for me. Doctor's orders."

"Why would Hopps tell me? Isn't that _your_ responsibility? Besides, I'm still not convinced about you being on active duty." 

"Haa... fine. I'll go." He whined and Finn sat up beside him, reaching out his hand. 

"Nick, gimme the phone." 

"Hold on, sir. Finnick wants a word." He handed the phone over and curled back into the warm sheets as Finn geared into rant mode. 

"Hey. Nick's not coming in today. Or at all this week. He's got _pneumonia_. The doc only released him under my care and supervision. ... Yeah, so? ... No. ... ... What? ... What the hell? ... No, you calm down! You really think I'd hurt him, you son of a bitch?! ... Yeah, that's 'cos they fuckin' are self-inflicted! ... Bitch, don't tell me what to do. You think I can watch him all the time?! ... Obviously not, man! C'mon! Only obsessive creeps are that clingy. ... ... ... Goddammit, fine. But then he's coming straight home to rest." He hung up. "Nick, get your ass dressed and eat some breakfast. You're gonna talk to this harpy lady about your damn problems and you're gonna cooperate." 

"Finn, what the hell?" 

"Shuddup. Spineless-ass donkey-ass motherfucker. Thinks he can accuse me of cuttin' you up. Or that you did it because of me. Or that you can be more likely to get into an abusive relationship after what happened. Prick. Asshole. Statistics aren't facts, dickwad! Fuck you still doin' in bed?! Get up. Eat breakfast, take your meds and if you're quick I'll drive you." 

Groaning, Nick flopped onto the floor and half-crawled, half-slumped to the closet. Meanwhile, Finn put on some fresh khakis as violently as one can put on a pair of trousers and stormed into the kitchen to cook some kippers and fry some eggs. Again, as violently as possible. Until he burnt himself when the oil spat at him. Then he calmed down.

 

At ZPDHQ, Nick found himself wandering aimlessly through the upper levels of the building; wherein lie the offices. It took him a fair while to find the place, and when he did he was greeted immediately by his new therapist: a bubbly sheep with a slight resemblance to Belweather, though she was dressed less like someone in their sixties; more like a businesswoman - stylish and professional and a dark brown pantsuit.

"Hello, you must be Nick. I'm Doctor Claribel, but please, call me Barbera." Her office was at odds with her outfit; warm and charismatic, more like a lounge than anything. There was no desk, but a low coffee table adorned with a full tea set and surrounded by a variety of soft furnishings. Beanbags, armchairs, poofs, etc. Nick sat in an armchair opposite his new shrink. 

"Okay, Baaarbera. How does this work, exactly? You force me to answer difficult questions then stick me on meds that shut off my ability to feel and charge me for the trouble?" 

"Not at all. Would you care for some tea?" Nick glared at her coldy while she sipped hers with a gentle smile. "I'll take that as a no. So, Nick, what would you like to talk to me about?" 

"Anything?" 

"Anything." She set down her cup for a moment and picked up her pad and pen. 

"Alright. Let's start with that ridiculous name of yours. What lunatics named a sheep Baaaarbera? Is that why you became a shrink, because your 'rents were off their meds?" 

"There's no need to be rude, Nick. I'm here to help you." 

He folded his arms and avoided eye contact. "Who says I need help?" 

"Well for one thing..." She rumaged through a bag at her side. "Your file." 

"What the hell are you doing with that?!" 

"Just a little bedtime reading. I like to be prepared for anything. Why don't we start with those scars?" 

"What, these? Haven't you ever fallen down ten flights of stairs with a knife in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other?" She smiled and took another sip of her tea. 

"You claimed they're self-inflicted. Why don't we start with an easy one. Why?" 

"If you really want to know, I slipped and fell into a warehouse crate that stores broken glass. Why they were storing something so useless I'll never know." 

"Deflection" She muttered and made a note of it. 

"What?" 

She raised her voice a tad. "Deflection. That's what we call it when you make jokes to avoid dealing with something... uncomfortable. Based on your lacklustre material, I'd say it's something that's gotten harder recently. An old habit you tried to break?" 

"Don't psycho-analyse me. Just tell me what you want. Why am I here? I dealt with all of this over the last twenty-three years. I'm fine." 

"Twenty-three years. So, you were eight years old when you were-" 

"Don't say it." 

"Raped." Nick flinched at the word. "You don't seem like you've healed, Nick. If you had, would you still be hurting yourself? Something must've triggered it. A relapse; falling back into old habits of self-harm, self-destruction, ... drugs?" 

"What?! I'm not on any drugs." She leaned back into her chair, right leg over left. 

"Really? You're shaking, you keep rubbing your arms like you're cold or anxious, and, oh? Is that a needle mark on your right arm?" 

"I was in hospital. They gave me a cannula for the IV. That's it." She glanced quickly through her notes and some more recent additions to the file, which was almost wafer thin. 

"So I see. Doctor Marko Carmine. Patient admitted for pneumonia, numerous lacerations and contusions. Low dose of morphine administered for pain. But here's the thing, Nick. A low dose wouldn't trigger withdrawal symptoms in anyone who wasn't already dependant. A recovering addict, for example. Especially if the addiction was faced during youth, while the patient's brain was not yet fully-developed." She sipped her tea again and smiled. "Perhaps you'd like to talk about that, Nick?" 

Nick stood up. "I don't have to deal wih this. I'm leaving." He turned away as she spoke. 

"Fine. If you don't want to stay on active duty. One call from me and Bogo will put you behind a desk." Nick scowled and trudged back to his seat in a huff. "Now don't pout. But we have to talk about something. Unless you'd rather stare at the walls for another forty-five minutes." 

"It's only been fifteen minutes?" 

"Actually..." She checked her watch. "Seven. The traditional therapist's hour is fifty minutes, so that leaves forty-three." She smiled again. At least Nick's fake smile was convincing. "So. Heroin?" 

"No." 

"Then let's talk about... your mother." 

Nick flew into an uproar, bursting out of his chair with frightening speed, but Barbera merely sat there, watching. "You leave my mother out of this, bitch!" 

"Hm. Struck a nerve, have I?" 

"You're damn right you struck a nerve!" Nick's breathing became short and ragged; he fell back into his seat and put his head between his knees, lacing his fingers behind his head. It took five minutes for him to get his breathing back under control. 

"Better now?" He nodded, still gasping a little. "Good. So, before the inciting incident, how was your childhood? Happy? Sad? Simple? Were you poor?" Nick nodded. 

"Yeah. We were poor, alright. Mom was working three jobs just to keep food on the table." 

"And your father?" Nick shook his head, holding back tears. 

"Dead. Or at least, I remember Mom saying so. But I don't remember anything about how he died. I just remember he was there when I was three, and then one day he wasn't. I don't even really remember his face, just that he was one of those mammals with hair as well as fur, and he wore glasses. Or at least, I think he did. I don't really know." 

"You don't? Weren't there pictures?" He shook his head again. 

"No. Mom put them all in the attic, and I think I remember her burning some of them." 

"Maybe he ran away." 

"No! Dad wouldn't do that. He was a good man. He was. He must have been." Barb could tell she wasn't getting anywhere with that line of inquiry, so advanced to the next. 

"So, what changed?" 

"Well, like I said, Mom was working three jobs, and then..." 

"And then?" 

"And then she doubled down. Took on extra shifts. Left me at home most of the time with the TV and some instant meals. All because I wanted that stupid uniform. I was... so proud the first time I wore it. And the last." He began to get choked up, but continued anyway. "I heard some kids at school talking about them, about how great they were, so I decided, if I wanted their respect, or at least not any more animosity, that I'd become a Ranger Scout too. So Mom saved up and got me a Junior Rangers uniform and... let's just say it backfired, and leave it at that." 

He began to sob, trying in vain to hold it together. 'Don't cry. Don't cry.' Thumping his temple with the heel of his palm. He felt a hand on his, holding it still, stopping him from hurting himself. An angel? He opened his eyes. Just her. 

"It's okay to cry, Nick. You've been through a lot." She offered him a tissue, he snatched the box from her and turned away, hunching over himself while he sorted himself out. She gently rubbed his back, but he pulled away. 

"Please. Don't touch me. I'm so pathetic. It was twenty years ago! Why am I still such a mess?!" 

"These things take time. Some people never fully recover. But you're strong. You'll be okay." He sniffed, wiped his eyes once more and forced himself back into a state of composure. 

"Thank you." 

"Tell me what happened. Was it the troop leader?" 

"No. It was the entire troop. They were punishing me for removing my muzzle." 

She gasped and picked up her pad and pen once more. "They muzzled you? Why?" 

"Because I'm a fox. Because all foxes are scum and for them to tolerate my presence I'd have to be muzzled. They beat me and muzzled me and I ran off. They caught me, beat me again for taking off the damn thing, forced themselves on me and even went so far as to piss on me for having the audacity of bearing the scent of my own species! Are you done torturing me now?!" He was standing again, still yelling. "Or do you need to know any more of my dark secrets?! How about my leaving home after three years of my own mother looking at me like I was sullied. Like I was impure. Something to be pitied! Or maybe you'd like to hear how I joined a gang just to have a steady source of food? Or that I ended up sleeping with damn near all of them before the age of eighteen?! Do you wanna know about my abuse of crack? Or heroin? Or how about the fact that from the age of fifteen to twenty-one I was..." 

"Yes?" 

"This was a mistake. I'm leaving. If you think I have to be put behind a desk for my own good, then fine. But I'll not be subjected to any more of this shit for your own amusement. Sitting there with a fake smile, or feigning shock, drinking your fucking tea. Leave me the hell alone and give me a lousy desk job if that's what it takes. But know that if you do, you're condemning me to death." He was so stressed out at this point, he started running his claws along the lines of his stitches, nearly scratching them but not quite, using his last ounce of self control to resist the urge. "I'm making a difference out there, Barb. A real difference. For the first time in over two decades I'm actually happy with who I am. Without this I'm nothing. Nothing! Nothing at all..." He fell to his knees and wept, shivering, endlessly, mindlessly repeating the words "I'm nothing, nothing at all, I'm nothing." He had no idea how long he was down there, spiralling without end, but he jolted back to the world with a sharp gasp at Barbera's hand on his shoulder. 

"Nick? Are you okay? You were having a panic attack but it's over now. I think we've definitely made some real progress here today." 

"Progress?! Are you insane? I spent half the session crying on the floor like an infant!" 

She shrugged. "Well, that's how you make progress here. We talked about some of your issues, and now I understand them better. Are you aware that you seem to have a profound inferiority complex, for example? For now, take some time off. Rest. Come back to see me once a week and we'll fix it. I promise." 

"Fix it? Fix me, you mean. I-I can't. It's just too hard." 

"That's what she said." He let out a short burst of laughter and felt a little lighter for it. "I know it's difficult, Nick, but try and persevere with it. In the end, you'll feel better about the whole thing. I swear it." 

He took a calming breath and swallowed the last of his pride. "Okay, Doc. You win. I'll see you next week. Just please let's talk about something easier next time." 

"Well, that really depends on you, Nick. Is there anything easier?" He thought about it and honestly, he wasn't sure. Maybe this would help in the long run, but was it really worth this much pain, even to be free of pain forever? "And we're out of time. See you next week."

 

It was a few days later and Wolford was in bed with someone he really cared about. He looked down at Nick's visage as he kissed him up-and-down, licking everything he could reach. He plunged into warmth and heat of an indescribable nature. Tightness, perfection. It wasn't long before they were both crying out in ecstasy. Wolford spilled his seed, nearly bursting the condom. They shared a quiet moment before Wolford kissed his partner, withdrew and rolled onto his side, panting. The arm of his lover wrapped around him as the voice of his wife Betty whisper-sighed into his ear.

"That was amazing, Lucious. The best it's been in a long time." He said nothing in response. Silent tears stained his cheeks as he drifted off to sleep. 


	10. The Overture

Judy was exhausted. Beyond exhausted. Fatigued beyond fatigue. To say it was a long day would be a collossal understatement. As soon as she crossed the threshhold into her apartment, she collapsed against the door that shut behind her. Nick was slumped over the kitchen table; not looking much better than she. He was deshevelled; clad in a cotton vest and boxers; eyes unfocused and cloudy. And he stank. Absolutely reaked. How did someone accumulate this much stench in one day?! His fur was sticking up at odd angles; clumped in grease.

"Nick? What the hell?!" She clamped her nose shut with both hands, giving her voice an odd, nasal quality.

"Oh... hey, ... Judy..." He half raised one hand in an attempted wave, only for it to fall back to the table with an audible thump. Despite her hands, the smell of unclean fox permeated every synapse dedicated to that sense. Under that heavy cloud of musk was another odour: alcohol. It was nondescript; a generic blur of many flavours until there was no distinguishing them. A keener-nosed mammal may have told her that there was wine, vodka, beer, and oddly enough, mead. But she could deduce this from the wide array of bottles that littered the floor. She approached him warily.

"Nick? Are you okay? Where's Finn?"

It took him a while to respond; his eyebrows knitted together under extreme concentration. "Finn... left a little while ago? Hm... yeah. He... went for his... um... anger management thing? I... I'm sorry, Judy." He sniffed, and almost immediately started to weep. "I was just so lonely!" 

Judy placed her hand on his trembling shoulders. "It's okay, Nick. You slipped up, but it's okay." He was sobbing uncontrollably, any words spoken indecipherable. "Nick, shh, shh, you'll be okay. You go take a shower and I'll make you some coffee."

After Nick slunk away unsteadily, Judy was quick to gather up and discard the innumerate bottles. But first, she flung open all the windows and turned on every fan she could find. To whit; one. She struggled under the weight of each individual black bin bag before hurling them out the window with a tremendous cry, and into the dumpster below. The third and final one nearly took Finn's head off. For some reason, he insisted on coming in via the fire escape.

"Woah! Judy? What the fuck?!"

"Oh, hey, Finn. Just... um... doing some spring cleaning." He raised his eyebrow in disbelief.

"Really?"

Judy nodded vigorously. "Yeah." Then they heard Nick wretching in the shower. Loudly. "Nick's just... under the weather, that's all."

"Oh, really? Bitch, you know I smell the booze, right?" He made to move past her, towards his suffering boyfriend, but she slid into place to block him. "Judy? Get out of my way."

"Please don't be mad at him. He feels so guilty about it." He pushed her aside and kept walking.

"Oh, I'm _way_ past mad." He clenched his tiny fists, but then relaxed and let out a deep breath through his nose. "But right now, my baby needs me, and that's all that matters."

Steam billowed out of the door as soon as Finnick flung it open; the shower was clearly way too hot. Behind the curtain, Nick was lying in the tub, trembling in a pool of his own blood-stained vomit. Some of it washed away under the brutal spray of the shower. Finn simply stood there; for once unsure of what to do. When Nick saw him he shivered, curling up on himself further and hiding his head in his arms. He even curled his tail up to hide as much as possible. And yes, this got puke stuck to his fur.

"Nick..." Finn cooed. "It's okay. Tell me what happened." Nick wimpered, but said nothing. "I'm not mad, babe. I just want to help you. So tell me what happened." He spoke softly, but insistently.

"It's stupid." He croaked, barely audible. Finn jumped into the tub fully-clothed and stroked Nick's sweet head. He gently ran his fingertips over Nick's flattened ears until the last of the filth had washed away.

"I love you. Nothing you say could ever sound stupid to me." Nick moved into a sitting position and wrapped his arms around Finn, crying softly against his shoulder.

"I don't know what's wrong with me. Why am I so emotional lately?" They started to rock back-and-forth amidst the scolding spray that neither of them noticed any longer.

"What's wrong, baby? Tell me what happened."

Nick held him even tighter and whispered the truth; hating himself with the full force of pride and shame. "I missed you. See? I told you it was stupid."

"That's not stupid, Nick. You've been through a really difficult time lately, and I want you to know that I'm there for you."

"Thanks, Finn."

"Coffee's ready!" Judy called through from the kitchenette.

 

A few minutes later, Nick was snoodled up in the floofiest dressing gown imaginable. It was white, and the fluff was six inches think. Judy busied herself making pancakes while Nick poured maple syrup into his coffee and squeezed Finn's hand, as though he was afraid that if he let go, Finn would disappear. With a resonant clang of crockery on vinyl, Judy placed the three plates of shortstacks before them. They were out of blueberries, so they were all plain. Though Nick was smiling, Judy and Finn had long-since learnt to see the saddness in his eyes that still lingered; visible through the holes in his mask. They sat in silence, eating their pancakes with the mixed feelings of sugar-wrought joy and sombre pangs from the unspoken elephant that had joined them for dinner.

"So, Judy, anything happen at work? What's new? Is there a break in the case?"

"Oh, um..."

"C'mon, Carrots, I'm going stir-crazy here."

"Actually, there are a few things"

His ears perked up and he actually started wagging his tail. "Yeah? Like what?" Judy darted her eyes between Nick and Finn and didn't speak again until Nick took the hint and placed his hands over the fennec's ears; blocking out all sound and earning Finn's 'grumpy face'.

"A witness to the abduction of Jirard Willis reported one of the assailant's was wearing a lapel pin from a place called The Overture."

"What?! The Overture?! Are you sure?" Nick jumped forwards a little, shaking Finn's head as he did so. Finn, irritated, backhanded the spaz in the ribs so he'd sit back down, and went back to eating his pancakes, largely ignoring what happened around him.

"Y-yeah. Why?"

"Just... don't go there without me. You'll see why."

"O...kay... Ahem. Well, there's a few other things, too. Another body. Different than the..." She glanced at Finn, as though checking he couldn't hear her. His eyes glanced up to meet hers, then fell back to the food. "Fennecs." She whispered.

"Different how?"

"Well, the fennecs were all showing signs of extreme dehydration; in fact, all the fluid from their entire bodies was gone."

"I remember." He shuddered at the thought of the poor sack of skin he'd seen on the riverside; a dry and empty husk.

"Well, this guy, Simon Hamilton-"

"The otter from the case file?"

"That's the one. Well... just look at this." She cast a photo onto the table for Nick to see. 

"Woah! The fuck happened to that guy?!" Nick pulled the photo to his chest immediately, hiding it from his outspoken Finn.

"Finn! Don't look at this. Police stuff."

"Yeah, yeah." He hopped down and sauntered to the bedroom. "Finished eating, anyway."

Nick took the image between his thumb and forefinger and peered down at it. The otter was naked, his fur missing in some places; traces of blood marring his face around the nose, mouth and eyes. Judy passed him several additional photos; each focussing on different parts of the body. There was bruising up and down his torso and other signs of internal bleeding. His arms had numerous needlemarks; pronounced, black veins and abrasions on the wrists were coupled with marks of stress in the shoulders; indicating that he had been suspened, perhaps chained up. His hands were bloodied around the knuckles and nails, which were chipped and ragged. The genetalia were bruised and distended; the sheath appearing to be severely damaged, no longer able to contain the penis, which was grotesquely swollen and bloodied. The headshot revealed that the eyes were extremely bloodshot; to the point that the sclera were entirely red. The pupils were dilated beyond any natural means and the eyes appeared to be extremely swollen; bulging from his face in a gruesome display. The tongue was purple and engorged in a mouth marked by bleeding, receded gums and lips that were split in several places. He also appeared to have had an extreme nosebleed, but this barely seems worth mentioning.

"Wh-what, _exactly_ , am I looking at?"

"We... don't know. He was found in the river, like the others. We should have more information when the boys in the lab get back to us with the autopsy results. Speaking of which, the fennecs weren't just drained of all fluids, apparently, the glands and such responsible for pheromone production were overstimulated. Especially those involved with sexual pheromones."

Nick took another brief look over the photos before cramming some pancakes and coffee down his gullet. Judy's face was... picturesque. Nick had never seen anyone look quite so perturbed. "How can you still eat?!"

"What? I'm hungry." She just shook her head at him and smiled. "Hn. My fake smile is more convincing. Anyway, this is... wow. Fuck it, I'm getting dressed."

"What?" Nick had already gotten up and was heading for the bedroom. He looked over his shoulder to answer her.

"I'm well enough to get back to work and this needs resolving as soon as possible. You said we had a lead, right? We're going to The Overture."

 

Wearing plain clothes, Nick and Judy got into Finn's van (the only non-police vehicle presently available to them) and proceeded in silence; Nick taking many backstreets and odd routes without ever really saying why. Judy assumed he knew some shortcuts, but thought nothing of it beyond that. In truth, her mind was primarily occupied with what she _hadn't_ told him eariler. That amongst everything else that had happened that day, a hyena had been found in an alley near their apartment; beaten beyond recognition. That their little secret may one day see the light of day; perhaps sooner, rather than later. That she was torn between her duty to the badge, to the city, to her oath and her loyalty to her best friend. That she knew what he'd said; that their best bet was to simply never mention it again and get on with their lives but that not talking about it was killing her. The noise of sudden silence as Nick turned off the engine disturbed her revery. They had arrived. Nick stepped out of the van and leant against the cold metal. Judy bit her lip as she hopped down from her side and walked around to join him. She could hear how hard his heart was beating and see how tense he was, no matter how well he hid it.

"Nervous?"

"Yeah, a little."

"Why?"

"You'll see." He pushed off the van and strode towards the building and its gaudy, magenta lighting. And oh, the neon. There is such a thing as too much neon. Naming the place after its owner (more or less) might actually be one of the more subtle aspects. At the overly-well-lit door stood a well-dressed brown bear who put out one hand to bar entry without so much as looking away from his phone.

"ID, please." Came the silky-smooth voice about a fifth lower than even Finnick's. Judy would not admit how it had sent a shiver down her spine. Thankfully, Nick was in front and so didn't see her tremble.

"Oh, come on, Jim, it's me." The bear glanced up from his phone with dark, uninterested eyes that immediately lit up with recognition.

"Oh, Nick. Welcome back. Please, come right in." He opened the door for them and stood aside.

"Is there anyone in this town you don't know, Nick?" Judy asked as they stepped into the thankfully dimmer interior.

"What can I say? I'm a people person."

"So you slept with him." Nick shrugged. Judy looked around quickly and took in... everything. Pink seats, pink... everything. But the stage was black, with a stylish, curved design. There were two poles in the wings, and one front-and-centre, on the catwalk. Two beautiful vixens approached them, swaying their hips and swinging their tails to further accentuate the movement. The one on the left was clad in frilly lingerie and fishnets; her friend was wearing an elegant evening dress that split along the left leg, all the way to the hip. Either they had actual hair, the way Gideon did back home, or they were wearing wigs. Either way, it was long, spilling down their backs and over their shoulders, accentuated with out-curls.

"Hi-i, Nick." They sang in unison.

"Clarisse, Trixxey." 

"We've missed you, Nicky." Said Trixxey, the... less... clothed of the two as she clung to Nick's side and brushed her tail against him.

"It's been ten years." Said Clarisse, clinging to his other side in much the same way.

"Yeah, I know. I've missed you too, girls." Clarisse lazily slinked away, her arm trailing behind her; extending the time they were in contact before going back to milling around the room.

"Are you gonna stay and watch me dance, Nicky?" Asked Trixxey, grinning broadly.

"Sorry. If I have time I will."

"And who's your friend?"

"Oh, this is Judy, my work partner." Trixxey knelt down to be eye-level with the bewildered bunny.

"Now ain't you just the cutest thing ever? Name's Trixxey. Any friend o' Nicky's a friend o' mine. If ya'll need anything, I'll be around. Ciao!" With a wink she skedaddled; half-walking, half-skipping into the throng.

"Hey, Nick...?" Nick turned to face her, smiling bashfully.

"Yeah, Jude?"

"Why are you so familiar with everyone at a strip club?"

"Oh-ho. It's a _lot_ more than that. I should know. I used to work here."

They realised they were still stood in the entryway, so Nick led her to the bar as they continued to talk. "You used to be a stripper?!"

"Ye-ep. Tuesdays and Thursdays. But most of the time I worked upstairs."

"Upstairs?"

"Yeah." He swallowed his nerves. "Upstairs is where-"

"Ah, Nicholas. So glad you could join us. I've missed you terribly." Meyhew was strolling towards them, oozing swagger and faux charisma, decorative cane grasped in one hand; a silver affair with floral reliefs. He held his arms out wind, as if coming to hug an old friend. Nearing them he moved to place his hand on Nick's shoulder. "You always were one of my favourites."

"Don't touch me!" Nick whipped around in his seat, slapping Meyhew's hand away. Everyone stared at them, the comfortable (if somewhat sleazy) air of the place becoming unbearably anxious.

"Now, don't make a scene, Nick. Everything's alright, everyone, go back to your business." He gestured broadly with both arms, and everyone immediately did as they were bidden. "Perhaps we should continue this discussion in my office?"

"I don't have anything to say to you!" Nick spat, voice full of venom, his eyes wild. Judy squeezed his hand, trying in earnest to keep him calm.

"Nick, calm down. Remember why we're here." Heeding her words, he exhaled and relaxed into his seat.

"Not a social call, I take it. Pity. After everything we've been through, you hold such animosity towards me. I do hope we can patch things up." 

Nick was busy grinding his teeth into Calcium dust, so Judy did the talking. "Mister Overturio-"

"Please, my dear Officer Hopps, call me Meyhew." Nick ground his teeth harder. "And how is dear Finnick? Not too sore, I hope." Harder still. Meyhew smiled warmly. "Oh, Nicholas. Have a care, wouldn't want you to ruin those perfect teeth." He petted Nick's cheek softly and Nick responed by grabbing his wrist and twisting it harshly. Meyhew merely snapped his fingers and an intimidating badger rushed to hand and grasped Nick's shoulders firmly enough to bruise.

"Don't make any trouble, Nick." Came the badger's gruff voice. He went by the name of Andrew and did not have time for anyone's shit. Nick relaxed his grip and Andrew followed suit, disappearing into the shadows.

Meyhew made a show of casually stroking his wrist as though gravely injured. Nick was rapidly losing patience and nearly barked when he spoke to the taller male. "Meyhew! We're here to search this place in connection with the disappearance of Jirard Willis. Just stay out of our way." 

"I trust you have a warrant?"

"Yep!" Announced Judy; waving it in his face before putting it away just as quickly. They moved quickly to put some distance between them and Meyhew and as soon as they were in the storeroom Nick breathed a heavy sigh of relief. "Okay, Nick. You've got some explaining to do. What is this place, really? What's upstairs? Why were you so defensive of Meyhew before when you clearly have some issue with him? Nick, what aren't you telling me?"

Nick was clutching his chest, still breathing heavily. It took him a moment, but he calmed down, opened his eyes, and looked decidedly less like he was going to pass out. "My relationship with Meyhew is... complicated. He looked after us, made us a family, gave each of us a purpose based on our individual skills. When I first joined the Klaw, I didn't really ... do... anything. My first real job was as a sort of... cover. I used my cuteness to distract from what the others were doing. Later, I started hustling for money and pushing drugs. I kicked the habit at thirteen, with Finn's help; he was fifteen at the time. Then I simply replaced one addiction with two others. One, you know about."

"And the other?" He knelt down, trembling, wringing his hands in anxiety, or maybe shame. He looked like he was praying, but to whom? And for what? She knelt opposite him, and took his hands in hers, smiling a soft sign of reassurance. He blinked away a single tear and returned the soft smile.

"Judy... what do you really think this place is?" She gasped in sudden realisation and recoiled in horror, hands clasped over her mouth in shock.

"You... but you were just a kid! When... when did this start?"

"The sex thing? Basically, ever since my first time with Finn. The first time it felt _good_. That it felt _right_. I think... I was obsessed with it, with burying the bad memory under a thousand good ones. But they were only good in that moment. Word got around about how good I was, or rather, how shameless. There was very little I wouldn't do. And when I was fifteen, I started working here. Upstairs."

"You were fifteen?! Fifteen?! _Fifteen?!_ " Nick just shrugged. Judy rushed forwards and threw her arms around him.

"'T's okay."

"No it's not! Oh, Nick." She held him tighter.

"Honestly. I enjoyed my work here. I enjoyed being able to please the man I saw as my father."

"That's awful! He made you have sex with him?!"

"What? No, he didn't make me! I wanted to. Being one of Meyhew's pets was a position of high honour." The slap rang through the air and seemed to stay there, suspended in time as Nick rubbed his cheek and blinked rapidly.

"I- I'm sorry. I-I just..."

"It's fine, Judy. You owed me a slap, anyway. And that _was_ a couple years after I started working here." He shrugged again. "I was kinda used to that sort of thing. Anyway, Finn became convinced something was amiss and spent the next three or four years convincing me to strike out on our own. But that's where the story ends for today." They stood up; Nick feeling lighter and Judy far heavier. This was when they first noticed the state of the room they were in. "Wow. Would'ya look how clean this place is, Carrots?"

"Oh no..."

"Carrots? Judy? What's wrong?"

"It's just like the alley... they must have seen this coming. Any clues that were here are gone now; cleaned away for good."

"I don't smell any chemicals. It must've been at least a few days ago."

"Dammit!" Judy finally reaced her limit and started punching the walls so hard Nick had to restrain her. "Dammit! Dammit! Dammit! Our first real clue and I louse it up!"

"What do you mean?"

"Urgh! I wasn't going to tell you this, but Finn and I ... ran into Meyhew while you were in hospital. Him and about thirty of his thugs, including your friend Sandy."

"Wait, Sandy's involved in this? Son of a bitch lied to me..."

"Long story short, I may have mentioned the lapel pin... by accident."

"What?! You idiot! He's had a whole week to clean this place up!"

"I know. I know. I'm so sorry, Nick." He shoved her away.

"Don't apologise to me. Apologise to the old lady who's never gonna see her son again. Christ, Judy! Why didn't you tell me about this sooner?"

"You were sick! Look how much coming here upset you. You couldn't have handled that with pneumonia!" They were wildly gesticulating at each other; throwing their arms around and such. At length, Nick forced himself to calm down.

"Okay, we do know one thing. We know that someone was held here. Probably Jirard, based on what we know. The absurdly clean nature of this room all-but confirms it. I'm going to go and talk to the girls, see if they know anything. You stay here and look around. Meyhew's always loved his secret passages."

"Tch. Really? Secret passages? Nick, this is a brothel, not a seventeenth century villa or a thirteenth century monastery."

"Okay, nerd. Just trust me, how else would he have been moved in and out of here without disturbing the patrons? The only other explanation is that this place is just... absurdly clean for no reason. I worked here for six years. Hygiene wasn't a huge issue for them. Contraception? Sure. Hygiene? Not so much."

"Well, that's the grossest thing I've heard all day. Haa. Fine. I'll look for your secret passages. That aren't here. Because that's ridiculous. In fact, you know what? No. Even if there were secret passages, the whole point of them is to be _secret_ , so of course I won't find anything."

"Don't sell yourself short. Ciao!" And with that, he was out the door, leaving the infuriated bunny to storm in the confined space.

One by one, Nick asked all the staff and all the regulars if they'd seen or heard anything about Jirard; they all said no, of course, which only really confirmed that if he had been here, they hadn't taken him near the front. After twenty minutes or so, he returned to check on Judy and found the storeroom in a complete shambles.

"Judy?! What the hell?!" He dropped his voice to a whisper as he closed the door behind him. "You trashed the place."

"What did you expect? You locked me in here to look for something that doesn't exist!"

"I didn't lock you in. I don't have a key. Did you even try the door?"

"I can't reach the handle."

"Oh. In that case, I guess I did lock you in. Sorry. What... did you do?" 

"I tried to move the shelves away from the walls and they collapsed. I did find what looks like a hidden panel of some sort. There's an odd square cut into the brick work, but it won't budge." She indicated a space in the one wall that had had no shelves previously. It was about the size of a garage door; an interruption in the painted-over pattern of the bricks in the wall.

"Good work. Now let's find a way to open it and get out of here so I can spend three days in the shower. Just being here again makes me feel dirty." Judy looked concerned and made her way through the jungle of toppled shelves, spilled boxes of condoms, etc. to give Nick's hand a reassuring squeeze, but kind of fell over instead. "Are you okay?"

"That's what I was going to ask you, Nick."

"Never mind that now. If we can't get that open, we've got no real evidence here, and the last thing I want is for this to have been a waste of time." 

With their combined strength and all of their weight they tried to push the thing open, but to no avail. Next, Nick continued to push the door-sized thing while Judy searched for any kind of switch nearby, but found nothing. Nick took a box-cutter from nearby and ran it into the groove, checking for any kind of weak spot that might indicate a way of opening. There was nothing.

"Hate to tell ya, Nick, but I think this might just be a door that got bricked up."

"No, no. There's got to be something we're missing." He stepped back and rubbed his chin in thought.

"What we're missing is a reason for staying here."

"Does this brick look different to you?"

"No. It's painted black like all the others. Can we go, Nick? We've been at it for hours and found nothing."

"C'mon, Carrots. It's not like you to give up. Besides, look, this one's smoother than the others."

"Really. How fascinating."

"I'm serious. Does it push? No... Maybe it'll slide..."

"Nick, please. It's been a really long day."

"Judy, listen. I know there's something here. Besides, with the amount of clout Meyhew has, he could probably push for a harrassment ruling unless we get him dead to rights." He was jiggling the slightly-loose, oddly smooth brick when he got it to turn slightly, much like a doorknob, but to a far smaller degree. The panel slid through the wall and sprung open on the other side to reveal... a completely empty room. The exasperated, exhausted bunny walked up behind Nick clapping as slowly as possible.

"Well done, Nick. You found the secret passage. Can we go now?"

"I don't understand. There has to be something here." He looked around the concrete cube and found absolutely nothing. The walls were even and smooth, revealing no scratchmarks that could be another hidden door. The room had no windows, no clear exit other than the one they'd just made, no furnishings at all, nothing. It was simply an empty block, about twice Nick's height and a perfect cube. As fatigued as she was, Judy had to admit it was a little odd. Why do to all the trouble of putting in a secret room that had no discernible purpose?

"Maybe it's some sort of panic room? What do you think, Nick?"

"Hey! There's a slight draft by this wall on the left. Huh. Maybe it only opens from the other side?" It was then that they noticed that the secret panel did have a handle on the inside.

"Curiouser and curiouser" Judy remarked.

"Hmm... if we can find this wall on the outside of the building, I bet we'd find the way to open it!"

"You might be right, but whatever this is, it's giving me a really bad feeling. We should come back tomorrow, with backup."

"What? And give them more time to cover this up?"

"I see you found my secret, Nicholas, Officer Hopps." The sudden appearance of Meyhew startled them both. "Thanks for trashing my storeroom, by the way. I hope for your sakes that nothing was broken. That would border on criminal damage, would it not?"

"Meyhew. What is this place?" He pressed a button on a discreet remote control, and the entire wall rose up, revealing a miniature loading bay of sorts.

"Why, it's simply an antechamber for the storeroom. Stylish, no? Now, officers, if there's nothing else, I invite you to leave. Ta-ta."

Judy thought about acusing him of what she and Nick were sure this room's real purpose was, but bit her tongue for lack of evidence, silently cursing this brobdingnagian vulpine as they trudged back to the van and drove home, where they effectively collapsed even as they got through the door.


	11. Collaboration

Nick and Judy had just returned from the Overture. Naturally, they were both fatigued beyond words; Nick drifted to his and Finn's shared bed with the air of one already caught in a dream. Judy, on the other hand, had a whole host of bees buzzing in her bonnet. 

'How much of what Nick told me was true? Did he _really_ enjoy working there? How could he have possibly enjoyed such degrading work? Was something wrong with him? Is something _still_ wrong with him? Was that his way of dealing with what had happened to him? What wasn't he telling me? Should I just trust that he told me everything? Am I a bad person for doubting him? Am I the one who's wrong? No. I'm just trying to help him, aren't I? Is that patronising? Or am I just being over-sensitive? Why does he have to do everything alone? I'm his partner, his _friend_ , so why doesn't he trust me? Is he trying to protect me from the truth? How can he be so selfish?!'

These questions and many others were left unspoken, unanswered, swirling en masse in her head. Unable to speak, she got out of bed and softly padded into the kitchen. As she passed the door to the main bedroom, she heard gentle moaning and smiled softly. 'At least someone's having fun', she thought to herself. She slumped onto the kitchen table, sighing, head in her hands. She only sat for a few moments, before her restlessness urged her to move once more. She got up and started pacing in the kitchen; those self-same questions still a raging tempest inside her head. Then she sat down again. Then she got up and started pacing again. Then she went back to bed. Then she started pacing in her bedroom. Then the bathroom. Then the kitchen and living room again. This went on for some time. She sat on the couch, hoping something on late-night TV would hold her attention and serve as distraction thusly; with mindless entertainment from sitcom reruns, talk shows, the news, B-movies, the porn channels she didn't know they had (or how they could afford). Nothing worked. They only served to irritate her further. Desperate for some relief, knowing this was a bad idea, she poured herself a shot of whiskey and gulped it down. This took the edge off slightly, but nowhere near enough...

 

Judy had been up all night. She didn't realise this until the sunlight smacked her over the head and the accursed birds started screaming in her ears.

"F...uck off... stupid... bird...s... Tweety... bastards... ugh..."

"Good mornin' to you too, Judy."

"Talking... birds?"

"No. Finnick. Your friend and roommate." He seemed to have appeared in the seat next to hers, out of the ether. Actually, he had walked in and sat down like a normal, non-teleporting person. He sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose in disgust. "You're completely wasted. Have you been up all night drinking?! How much have you had?!" He wrenched the empty bottle from under her, where she was lying on it. "You drank it all?!"

"I think I'm dying." She whined. Her eyes were bleary and barely-opened; rimmed with a magenta hue, visible though her face was half-covered by her arms. Finn sighed and hopped down to get her some coffee. There was a crack as he landed; from his knees, or possibly his ankles.

"Where did you two go last night? Musta' been pretty serious, the way you reacted."

"Nnnng..."

"C'mon. Get ya head up. Ya got work in a few hours."

"I... heard you two _moooooaning_ last night."

Finn sighed again. It was going to be a long day. "He was having a nightmare. I had to tie him down to stop him hurting himself. So again, where'd you go last night wi'out tellin' me?"

Judy's thought were well past the point of being jumbled. To her, Finn was just a blur of colour and sound. She was only dimly aware of his presence, let alone what he was actually saying. She was however, aware of his bare chest, large eyes and acute features. So she started giggling like a schoolgirl. This infuriated Finn, who began to growl under his breath. He suppressed his growing ire and poured the freshly boiled water onto the instant coffee granules. Three heaped spoons' worth. If that didn't wake her up, nothing would.

"Y'know... you're... kinda sexy when you're mad." Not knowing how to react, Finn became flustered, and began to trip over his tongue before ultimately falling back onto his default position of incandescant fury.

"SHADDAP AND DRINK YOUR GODDAMN COFFEE, YOU LUSH!!!" He proclaimed, shaking her and practically shoving the mug down her throat. Taken aback, she promptly complied and guzzled the scolding elixir without tasting it. Though she certainly felt it. Thick, milkless sludge.

"Aghak! Finn! What the hell was that?!"

"Coffee. You gonna be sensible now?"

She nodded, rubbing her throat in an attempt to ease the burning. "A'ight. Where'd you go last night?"

She took a moment to answer, still recovering as her throat was. And when she did finally speak to the impatient Finn, who at this point was scowling, her voice was weak and scratchy. "Ahmm. We went to the Overture."

"What? The Overture?!" He leapt up in his seat so fast it toppled over; forcing Finn to dive onto the table at the last second.

 

Nick awoke to a loud banging from the next room and found his shoulders aching; his hands fastened to something behind his head. He immediately started to panic.

"Wha-? Where? Where am I? Help! HELP!!! SOMEBODY HELP ME!!!" His heart was pounding in his chest, his eyes unfocused, his breathing erratic. A small silhouette burst into the room and came running towards him. "No! Stay away!"

"Nick, relax, it's me. It's Finn." The fennec sat beside him on the bed and there was a clicking as his hands were freed. Nick fell, trembling into his lover's arms and quickly began to calm down to the soothing rhythm of Finn's steady heartrate and hands gently stroking his ears.

"I-I didn't know where I was. I panicked."

"It's okay, babe. You were having a bad dream, I'm sorry for handcuffing you to the bed, but it was the only way to stop you from scratching."

"'S okay. I'm okay. I'm okay." Deep brown met forest green and they shared a chaste kiss before Nick pulled away, almost too quickly, and began to ready himself for another pointless, fruitless day at work. Judy had been quick to pull herself together, it was true, but Nick was no fool. He could smell the alcohol under the coffee in her breath, and though the bottle had been discarded, he still saw the thin layer of whiskey staining the base of the shot glass by the sink. Suffice it to say he lost his apetite at the prospect of his problems poisoning other people's lives. He smiled all the way to the precinct, but in his mind...

 

'It's my problem, not theirs. It's not fair that they suffer for what's happened to me. I'm glad they care, but... is it worth it? Maybe I should just leave them behind. Disappear. Then they'd be safe from me. No, not yet. Not until I've put that bastard behind bars and kept Finn safe from him. Just this case, Nick. Just fix this one last case and you can vanish without a trace. It's better for everyone involved.'

"I hate myself."

"Hn. Nick?" But Nick ignored her, not even realising he'd spoken aloud, and kept his eyes fixed squarely on the road. He wasn't really concentrating on driving; in truth, he never really needed to. He was merely keeping up appearances of normalcy while his mind was in such a dark place. And still he smiled.

'How can he say something like that with a smile on his face? Like it was nothing? Nick, I wish you'd let me help you.'

They arrived at Precinct 1 and Nick was about to step out of the car, only for Judy to place one velvet-soft hand gently on his arm. Seriously, how does she keep her hands that soft? Nick looked back at her with a warm smile that didn't quite reach his eyes and saw that she was smiling too, but her eyes were filled with unshed tears.

"Nick. Whatever happens, I want you to know that you're a good person, okay?"

"Sure thing, Carrots."

"Nick, I'm serious. You are a good person."

He turned away and stepped out of the car. "Thank you." He closed the door and left her behind, wondering if he'd meant that.

 

Hours passed and no new information came to light. He'd spent most of the day staring in vain at his computer screen, hoping for something useful to just jump out at him. Of course, nothing did, because that would be ridiculous. He reviewed the case notes, he read and re-read the same files over and over again. There was nothing. Nothing. Damn them. It had to be Meyhew. It had to be the Klaw. No one else was this anal retentive about eradicating all evidence of their involvement. But without evidence, there was no justifying a formal investigation. It just plain sucked. The lights faded outside as day gave way to night, and in walked Wolford.

"Lucie? What're you doing here so late? How'd you end up stuck on the nightshift?"

"Actually, I volunteered. It's just getting harder and harder to be around Betty, y'know? What about you? Your shift just ended, right?"

Nick swung his chair around to speak to Wolford properly. "So you're avoiding her. Like a coward. Why don't you just talk to her?"

"Because she'll leave me!" He broke down into tears for a moment before suppressing the tidal wave of emotions with a deep breath.

"So? You're gay, aren't you?" Wolford merely shrugged and Nick stood to place his reassuring hands on the lupine's sturdy shoulders. "The worst she can do is give you the freedom you need to be happy." 

Wolford avoided his gaze. "She can do a lot worse than that. So, what about you? You stuck?"

"Tch. Yeah, it's this damn case me 'n' Judy've been working for the past few weeks. There's just... nothing there."

"Well, don't give up. You're an unorthodox guy who solves problems in an unorthodox way. Give it time, the answer will come to you."

Nick smiled, an idea already beginning to take shape in the back of his mind. "Thanks, man."

"Oh, anytime. Excuse me." Nick nodded and they parted ways. As Wolford walked to his desk, however, Nick could see an almost imperceptible limp marred his gait. 

"Hey, Nick. Ready to go?" Yawned Judy, already wearing her jacket.

"Um, yeah. You go wait in the car, I'll just be one sec."

 

When Nick got to the car, Judy was already asleep; her chest gently rising and falling as she slumbered peacefully. He drove them home, put Judy to bed, and gently kissed Finn on the cheek as he slept before dressing as inocuously as possible and scurrying silently down the fire escape. He sat in Finn's van and put Judy's earpiece in. It was _not_ the right shape for a vulpine. Regardless, he set it to dial for Mr. Big and started the engine; driving off into the night.

"It's late, Judy. Is something wrong?"

"Actually, sir, it's Nick. But would you have picked up if you knew it was me?" 

"Ah, Nicky. You have my attention. And five minutes of my time."

"Is it okay if I use that five minutes when I get to you?"

Mr. Big sighed, unimpressed. "Very well, Nicky. But I urge you, do not keep me waiting." The line went dead.

 

Tundra Town was, by it's very nature, freezing cold; but this was exceptionally true at night. Having nearly frozen to death hereabouts less than a fortnight ago, Nick was well aware of this fact. He stood there, arms wrapped about himself, jogging in place for warmth as he waited for admittance to Mr. Big's Fortress of Tacky Decor. It was a good few minutes before the camera-doorbell-thing was answered, or maybe ten seconds. Hard to tell when your eyeballs are freezing over. On the monitor appeared the stoic face of Raymond; the smallest of Mr. Big's polar bears.

"Hi, Ray. C-can you let me in p-please? I'm freezing my tail off out here. He's expecting me." Raymond grunted and the chainlink fence slid open. Nick ran as fast as he could on his numb, little legs to the door of the compound proper, which was promptly opened by Kevin. To say he was surprised to see Nick here was an understatement, though he didn't let it show.

"Right this way, Nick." He rumbled. As they walked, he spoke again. "Your stitches look about ready to come out. I assume you'll not want to revisit the hospital?"

"Hn. No doubt about it."

They entered Mr. Big's audience chamber to find him waiting for them. Nick sat (rather anxiously) on a chair placed right on the trapdoor. Kevin put on his spectacles and began to rummage through his bag of tools as Mr. Big and Nick began their conversation.

"I told you not to keep me waiting, Nick." The shrew smiled, squinting out from under his eyebrows. Good, he was in a good mood. Actual jokes were rare from him.

"Sorry, Mr. Big. I got here as quick as I could." There was a slight tug on his right arm as Kevin set to work removing his stitches.

"I take it you're here for more than just to let Kevin practice his needlework. You have a favour?"

"Yes, sir. It's to help with an investigation, you see-"

"I'm not in the business of helping the police, Nicky." From his periphery, Nick could see Kevin shaking his head.

"It would help Judy too." The arctic shrew drummed his fingers impatiently on his teeny-tiny armrest. "And it would help step on Meyhew Overturio, and his Klaw gang."

"You... have my attention." Mr. Big laced his fingers delicately and leant forward in his chair. "Though not a direct competitor, he is a thorn in my side. I don't care for the way that man conducts business. Taking on children and such. All very questionable. I apologise. You still see him as a surrogate father figure, don't you?"

Nick ground his teeth. "There is no love lost between Meyhew and I. Even though... I owe him a lot."

"Yes, yes. Believe me, I do understand. So, your favour?"

"I suspect he's involved with a long series of disappearances, and based on the state of the corpses... mammal experimentation. But to investigate properly, I need evidence."

"You're not planning on planting it, are you?"

"Hn. I won't need to. If I can free one of his captives, that'll be enough to start a much more thorough investigation, maybe even get Meyhew out of the equation altogether."

Mr. Big lent back in his chair and Kevin removed Nick's shirt to start on his torso. "And what, pray tell, is in this... collaboration for us?"

"Isn't it obvious? The guy owns half the city. With a power vacuum like that, your mafia is next in line to seize control of everything. You have enough wealth to buy out his legitimate businesses when the time comes, and enough power to take over his drug empire. Think of it, sir. With all you have, and all he has, or rather had, you'd control _everything_."

The greedy, little rodent took the bait and smiled deviously. "We have an accord, then. Welcome back to the family, Nicky. Once Kevin has finished with your sutures, we may depart."

 

As fast as Kevin works, it was still another hour or two before he'd finished removing Nick's many, many stitches. Boy, did it feel good to have free motion of his body again. Clad in deep indigo apparel that covered their entire bodies, and a headset each, Red Hawk (Nick) and Codenames-Are-Stupid (Kevin) entered the tunnels beneath the city via one of the Klaw gang's now defunct warehouses.

"Everything Meyhew owns is connected by these tunnels. Man loves his secret passages. Anyway, back when I was just starting out as one of his runners, I used to use these tunnels all the time. Bearing in mind this was almost twenty years ago, the exact layout is... less than... perfectly remembered, but we should be okay. Since not everyone in his merry band of gits will be down with whatever the hell he's planning this time, he's probably using the old drug labs for his experiments." Nick explained as he led the way down dark corridor after dark, dank, and miserable corridor.

"If you know all this, why not just tell your superiors?"

"Without evidence, it's just a hunch. We're stretched too thin to risk a wild goose chase, so we can't investigate a hunch." Their whispering was becoming progressively quieter as they went. After a time, they arrived in more brightly-lit tunnels that were clearly still in use. This, obviously meant they were getting nearere to their goal, but with the added bonus that their stealth-oriented attire was quickly becoming worse than useless. They would need to find new disguises quickly, or this whole mission would be a bust. Though the tunnels were sufficiently maze-like that they could probably avoid detection if they were careful enough to stay out of sight. They had gone left, and right about two dozen times each without any real logic to the order. They had been in the lit-up part of the tunnels for more than ten minutes now and hadn't yet seen anyone. At every corner they would check around the bend for any sign of trouble, and finding none, they would proceed. Eventually, a curious scent piqued his interest: despair. A desire for death. Desperation. Blood. Urine. Sweat. Tears. Death. Following this scent would take them where they needed to go; of this Nick was convinced. Nick ran, spurred on by desperate courage as Kevin lumbered along behind. Nick flew around the next corner and immediately came to a screeching halt, diving behind a nearby cart. Thankfully, the badger with a clipboard turned the other way. In the cart was a truly disturbing sight; a fresh corpse. A fennec fox, almost identical to Finn, were it not for the glassy eyes, sunken cheeks, and dried out flesh. His eyes were green. It was James. The fennec he'd promised to return to his mother. It nearly broke Nick, to say the least. He curled up, wrapped his tail around his head, and tried not to cry. He had failed. He had been too slow, and now this innocent, this kid was dead. How could he atone for this? How could he ever be forgiven? He would never atone for this. He would never be forgiven. 

Motion? What? Violent shaking? Kevin was shaking him out of his despair spiral.

"Poor kid" Remarked Kevin at the sight of the corpse.

"We need to find one that's still alive. I know that sounds cold, but..." Kevin stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. He understood. Nick crept under the cart and peered around the doorway. There was a large room, suspended from the walls on chains were several fennec foxes. Naked, being pumped full of god-knows-what. Their necks strained backwards; their mouths forced open to facilitate feeding by a series of large, plastic tubes. There were many smaller tubes lining the arms and legs, filled with some strange fluid. Chemically-induced erections being forcibly over-stimulated; their semen siphoned away for who-knows-what ghastly purpose. Strapped to a series of metal slabs in the middle of the room were several other predators of various sizes and descriptions. Most were in a state of reduced consciousness. Mysterious figures in lab coats milled about, monitoring the bodies' responses to various chemical stimuli. Seeing all of this, Nick had to fight just to keep the bile in his stomach.

Nick clicked the transmitter on his headset. "White Hawk. Take flight."

Kevin simply grunted and moved to position. He ripped the mask off and charged into the room roaring, not from the top of his lungs, but from the diaphragm. Startled, these... experimenters ran for cover, leaving only their test subjects behind. Nick crept in on all-fours, quickly scanning the room for anyone compos mentis enough to escape. He hated having to leave these other people behind, but this was a covert operation. He told himself that they'd come back and save the others soon enough, but he knew that this was a lie. By the time he'd gotten the police involved in this mess, these ... specimens would most likely be dead.

"Please... help me. Please." Pleaded a tearey-eyed arctic fox in the corner. 

Nick moved to untie him. He was still entirely lucid, clearly a new aquisition. "Jirard Willis?"

"Who?"

"... Nevermind" 'Could he be dead too?' The snow-white fox fell forwards onto his hands and knees. Nick took off his shirt and handed it to the smaller fox to cover his shame. "Do you know the way out?" 

He shook his head, tears threatening to fall; long, white ears flattening against his head. "Please don't leave me."

"Okay, I won't leave you, don't worry. Can you stand?"

"I-I think so." He took an experimental step, and wincing, he fell down. 

"No good. I'll have to carry you. We need to go." Nick scooped up the little one and put him over one shoulder in a fireman's lift. He started running back out the way he'd come and reached across to his headset's tranmitter. "White Hawk, this is Red Hawk. Asset aquired. Rendezvous at exit point ASAP."

Kevin grunted, there were sounds of combat on the other end. "I wish you'd take this seriously." Whatever was happening, Kevin wasn't phased, or even out of breath. 

"I am taking this seriously. Do you know what'll happen if Songstress fingers us?"

"Enough with the codenames. I'm on my way. And why is Meyhew Songstress?"

"Because overture is a musical term! Just come on already. We don't have much time." As if on cue, the lights began flashing by way of a silent alarm.

"Um, Mister Red Hawk? What's happening?"

"It doesn't matter. Do you have a name?" Nick asked, keeping him talking as they ran.

"It's Calllum."

"Okay, Callum. When we get out of here, go to the ZPD and tell them what happened to you. Can you do that?"

"Yes. Of course."

By this point they were passing into the darker corridors again, and had to slow down. Still no sign of Kevin. "Okay, great. Can you tell me one thing?"

"What is it?"

"Do you know who these people are? Who they work for?"

"I... I think I heard them mention something about claws? Someone called Over... Over...-"

"-Overturio?!"

"Yeah! That was it!"

"The Klaw gang too?"

"Sounds familiar."

"Yes! Yes! I've got him! Hahaha!"

"You okay, man?"

"Yeah. Sorry, got a bit excited." Nick was running out of breath and couldn't maintain the conversation any longer. Nor could he run much further. His chest was starting to burn, actually. It was too dark to see anything that was actually there, but purple dots? Oh, yeah. Lots of purple dots. He put down Callum and sat down to catch his breath. Where the hell was Kevin?!

He radioed Kevin again, still panting though he was. "White Hawk, this... is ... hoo... hang on..."

"Red Hawk? Are you injured?"

"No, no. Just out of breath. Going blind. Hoo! Okay, hff... where are you, exactly? We're in the dark zone. Section... um... hang on. Purple dots. Kid, do you see the section number here?"

"Uh, hang on, Red Hawk." He leaned over Nick and squinted at the wall. Long, winter nights had led to rather exquisite night-vision. "23-B. And I'm not a kid. I'm twenty-five."

"Right, sorry. Ke... White Hawk. We're at position 23-B. Two-three-dash-B."

"Got it. I'm at position 11-X. Dasvidaniya. And hang tight."

So they waited, sitting in silence, for ten minutes. Kevin sure was taking his sweet time. Eventually, Callum spoke again. Had he been biding hs time? Or working up courage?

"Red Hawk?"

"Hn?"

"What's your real name?"

"Sorry, I can't tell you that. I'm taking a big risk just by being here."

"W-what about... the others?"

"I'm... sorry. If I could've saved more, I would have. But right now, the priority is stopping this operation before he can hurt anyone else. That's why I need you to go to the ZPD."

"You really think the police can stop this?"

"Who knows? But I have to hope." In the dark, he could feel Callum's hands exploring his exposed chest.

"These scars... they look fresh. How did you get so many?"

"It's a very long, very sad story, and I don't have the energy to tell it right now."

"What about this old one?" His hands barely touched the scar on Nick's hip, just peeking out above the waistline before he recoiled with horror at the contact; scrambling away backwards. 

"Don't touch it! Sorry. I just... that's an even longer story."

Something heavy could be heard walking towards them. "I hope that's who I think it is."

"Good, I found you two. I need to get back to Tundra Town before my fur melts off."

"A polar? White Hawk? And Red Hawk's a fox. Isn't that a little ... on the nose?"

"Never mind that now. Let's just go." Nick grumbled, slightly miffed. "Did you lose them?"

"Yes. That's what took me so long. Once I was in the shadows it was easier."

 

They left the same way they came in, though it took a little while to find, then Kevin moved a large piece of broken machinery over the entrance as security. He took his leave and Nick escorted Callum to the ZPD's precinct one. They stopped in an alley in view of the entrance. "If at all possible, try to speak to Officers Judy Hopps and Nick Wilde. Lucious Wolford is a friend of theirs and he's on duty now. They'll be able to help you."

"Thank you. Who are you guys?"

"Friends. That's all I can tell you. I can't be seen, but I'll watch you from here to make sure you're okay." And he did exactly that; standing vigil as Callum crossed the street and entered the building, dressed only in an indigo sweatshirt several sizes too big.

 

Nick came home, having been awake far too long, and crept back in the same window he'd left. Everyone was still asleep, thankfully. He undressed, and crawled into bed beside Finn, as quietly as possible. 

"Where the hell have you been?" Hissed his deep, angry voice.

"Taking care of business. Don't worry about it."

"It's five in the fucking morning."

"Then let me go to sleep. Goodnight, Finn." Naturally, Finn had more to say, but Nick would never hear it, having already fallen asleep. Finn grumbled his discontent and rolled over; going to sleep with his back to Nick.


	12. Consequences

"Well, someone sure looks happy today." Said Judy over breakfast. Nick was beaming broadly. It was nice to see him looking happy for a change. It had... certainly been a rough few ... years, I guess.

"What can I say?" He exclaimed between hasty mouthfuls of cereal. "I just know today's going to be a good day. Don't ask me why, because I won't tell you."

"So, where's Finn today? Still in bed?"

"Yeah... he... woke up in a bad mood, so he's having a lie-in." Judy could tell he was being evasive, but decided to let it go. Seeing as Nick was actually cheery for once, she wouldn't want to be the one to put a downer on things. Regardless, breakfast was eaten and there was nothing wrong with showing up to work a few minutes early. According to Judy, anyway. Nick had always considered this a cardinal sin.

 

It was a bright, sunny day; the kind of day that Unemployed Nick would have used for sunbathing. Far too hot to work. But Working Nick, Cop Nick, Duty-bound Nick, well, he had stuff to do, so he chose the short-sleeved version of the ZPD uniform for today. It was a Thursday near the end of September, and it had no business being so damn hot. Too hot to drive, Nick had said, but Judy was concerned that it might rain later, even though the sky was cloudless. So they drove. Which sucked because it was Judy's cruiser and she refused to turn on the AC. Ever. Under any circumstances. After two years of persuasion, she had agreed to do so, with the caveat that the tarmac actually be melting first. Suffice it to say, this was now a dead issue.

 

Arriving at Precinct One, they were greeted by the whirring hum of the many electric fans crowding Clawhauser's desk. Nick spoke so that only Judy could hear "I bet he loses ten pounds from the heat alone."

"Nick! That's awful!" She hissed. "How much?"

"Ten bucks?"

"Done."

Ben was fanning himself with a magazine, in addition to the many electric fans mentioned above. 

"Hey, guys!" He greeted them with his usual beam of sun that banishes winter then clasped his hands before his mouth with the face of one who is suppressing a squeal of delight. "Oh, Nicky, you're smiling again!"

"Wha- no I'm n- shut up!" Suddenly bashful, he hid his face, but couldn't stop smiling. He'd spent so long building up street cred, a reputation; lived his life by stoicism, so why now? Why was the mask slipping? Why couldn't he put it back in its proper place?

"Wolford wanted to see you two - oh, speak of the devil." Wolford was walking towards the exit, but he turned back on himself. He was pacing the lobby, dark rings around his eyes and a large cup of coffee clasped tightly in a subtly shaking hand. When had he last slept?

"Hey, Lucious! Good morning!" Nick hollered. Wolford blinked slowly and altered his course towards the main desk.

"Nick. Judy." He nodded to each of them. He opened his mouth to speak again, but was interrupted by his own yawn. "Excuse me. There was a walk-in in the early hours. He asked for you two specifically. I gave him something to sleep, I mean, I gave him something to _eat_ , and let him sleep in the infirmary. Forgive me, I'm just tired."

"Yeah, I can tell. Maybe you should go and lie down."

"I can't. My shift just started." 

Nick placed his hand on his friend's shoulder and looked directly into eyes that could barely hold his gaze. Barely focus at all. "Lucious... you can't work yourself to death. This is your third shift in a row, isn't it? Does the chief know you're doing this? Go home, Lucie. Get some rest."

"But, Nick, I-"

"I know. Believe me, I know. I know how it feels to need to run home and hide, but home is where you're running from. But running didn't help me and it won't help you. If you need support while you face your wife, I'll be there for you."

Judy and Ben's eyes darted back-and-forth between the speakers throughout this conversation; with hers being particularly concerned.

"Nick... no. It's fine. I'll find a way to deal with it. For now I'll stick to the nightshift, and sleep while she's at work." There was a pregnant pause that lasted for a full minute; neither party sure what to say next. "He's waiting at my desk. I'm going to get some sleep while I have the chance." He left, whistling a low-pitched tune in a minor key.

"Goodnight, Lucious."

 

Exactly as promised; the arctic fox sat at Wolford's desk; panic-stricken eyes and shabbily dressed. He looked like he'd dressed out of the lost-and-found (because he had). He was sitting bolt-upright, slowly and cautiously picking pieces off a bagel and eating them. Seeing Nick and Judy approach, his demeanour shifted slightly. He was still visibly anxious, but slightly less agitated, perhaps.

"Hey, are you Officers Hopps and Wilde?"

"Yes. This way, please." Answered Judy. They led him to an interview room; one-way glass, a small table with two chairs on one side and one on the other. None of the furniture was appropriately sized, as was typical. Judy indicated the lone chair where he sat, and she sat opposite him with Nick leaning silently over the back of her chair. "Have you witnessed a crime?"

"N-no... I was... um..." He was staring at Nick's arms, more specifically, the scars that criss-crossed them every-which-way.

"Take your time. Why don't you start with your name?" She produced a notebook and pen, ready to record his every word.

"C... ... hnn..." He was staring at his hands; clearly the boy had no confidence.

A moment passed, Nick sighed and stretched his arms over his head. "I'm gonna get some coffee. Do you or the kid want anything?"

"I know that voice! You. You're Red Hawk, aren't you?"

"Clearly a fox."

The kid shook his head. "Stop lying! Those scars, those eyes, that voice! You. You're the guy who set me free."

Nick arched an eyebrow effortlessly. He'd prepared for this eventuality. "I think you're confused. Start at the beginning."

Judy turned to him with the eye of disbelief. "Nick, what's he talking about?"

He put his hand up and shook his head as he spoke. "I'm telling you, I don't know."

The kid stood up on his seat and spoke again. "My name is Callum Morris. I was kidnapped, and I wound up in this weird facility.-"

"You were reported missing. Can you tell us what happened?" Judy interjected.

"Oh, I hope no one's too worried about me."

"Easy, kid" Callum glared at him. "Callum. Just try and stay calm. Where were you when you were taken?"

He sat back down and clenched his eyes and fists tightly closed. "I was on my way to work, down at the docks. I'm a fisherman. The last thing I remember, I was just coming into the ice fields."

"Wait, there are no docks in Tundra Town." Don't butt in, Judy!

"Well, that's what we call them. Really, it's just some shanty-town style piers and woodwork over some good spots for ice fishing. We net the waters and send off our haul to the local canneries. That's not what's important-"

"Do you remember what street you were on?" Asked Nick.

"No. Albatross Avenue, maybe? I can't... remember." He desperately clutched at the short, white hair sprouting from amongst the fur atop his head. Almost as if he thought he could yank the memories out of his brain if he tugged hard enough.

"Easy, Callum. It doesn't matter. Just tell us what you can, okay?"

"That's everything until last night. I woke up, naked and tied to a chair. There were ... just... horrible, horrible things happening all around me. Fennecs were chained to the walls, being... drained. Of everything. All their fluids. It was awful. There were these... slabs, I guess? With other mammals strapped down on them. These... creepy guys in masks and labcoats were... I don't know... experimenting on them, I think. Big and small, all predators, I think. They were drugging them. Something that made them go into some kind of seizure. Their... eyes were... bulging out. They were crying out in pain, begging for it to stop." His voice began to tremble more and more, a silver tear rolled down his cheek. "I... I didn't want to die down there. Filled with god-knows-what. Bleeding out of every orifice. I can't... even tell you about the worst parts. It's too much..."

"It's okay, Callum. You're safe now."

"Yeah. Me and Judy, we won't let anything happen to you." _I hope I can keep_ this _promise, at least._

"I... I think I was fading in and out. Sometimes I'd open my eyes and everything in the room would jump around. The people on the slabs would change. I heard them talking about something; some kind of plan. Some guy named Meyhew is behind it, I think. Then a polar bear dressed all in black comes barelling in and eveyone goes running. A fox calling himself Red Hawk gives me his shirt and carries me out, and I know it was you!"

Nick rolled his eyes. "Ugh. This again."

"Yes, this again! If it wasn't you, how come I know you have a huge scar on your left hip?!" Judy watched on in shock and awe as the three-foot ball of silver-white fluff as he tried to rip Nick's shirt off - buttons be damned.

"Hey! Keep your hands to yourself!" Nick sat Callum back down, perhaps slightly too roughly, and straightened up his newly wrinkled shirt. Everyone went back to work.

"He's right, though. You do have that scar. Nick, what did you do?"

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I did what I had to."

"Nick. You _know_ that's not how we do things. We go by-the-book. You didn't have a warrant, you could have damaged evidence without noticing, or any number of other things. This could ruin our chances of stopping that maniac. This could push a mis-trial, or-"

"Don't you think you're being a little melodramatic?"

Judy bawked at this. "No, I don't!"

"Hey, we've got a positive ID on him. That's enough for a proper investigation, right? So what does it matter?"

"You could lose your badge over this."

"I don't care!" He threw his arms into the air. "All that matters is stopping Overturio before he... does whatever it is he's planning to do!"

"Oh? And what's that?"

"I don't know! The guy's crazy! He thinks destroying society on a fundamental level will 'liberate us from the masks that confine us within our roles'. You were right all along, Judy. It is _exactly_ like a cult. I just didn't want to see it."

Just then, the intercom crackled to life. "Officer Wilde. My office. Now."

Nick tutted and rolled his eyes at the intrusion. "You finish getting Callum's witness report. I'll go see what the chief wants."

The door clicked shut behind him, and Nick's heart began to palpitate vigorously. The agitation was making the bright sunlight streaming through the windows, and the whirring, clicking fluorescant lights above exponentially more irritating than usual. As he strode with an air of manufactured confidence and a feeling of doom towards the chief's office, he equipped his sunglasses. To hide his eyes, to shield them from the light, and to soothe his building headache. His toes clicked against the cold, smooth floors with every step. His fingers flexed and relaxed, occasionally popping and unpopping his claws. His fellow officers began to murmur. Did they think he couldn't hear them? Gossiping about him, whispering behind his back. Nick ignored them; his coy half-smile unfaltering. Just breathe, he reminded himself. But still, doubts were present in his mind. By the time he reached the door to Chief Bogo's office, Nick had been holding his breath for a full minute without realising. He inhaled sharply, but his chest was still tight and painful. He hesitated with his hand on the doorknob, then hesitated with his hand in position to knock, before moving his hand back to the doorknob again.

"For god's sake, Wilde, just come in already." Nick walked in, not sure what to expect, and closed the door behind him; swallowing nervously. He hovered by the door for a while, Bogo typing something quickly. He removed his reading glasses and pushed the laptop to one side. He gestured with one hand to the seat before his desk. "Please, sit." Nick shifted from foot to foot, but didn't move. "WILDE. SIT." Nick hurriedly fell into place and chewed his lip subtly, with just one tooth. "Would you like to guess why you're here, Wilde?"

"Maybe you can't resist my charm, sir."

"Very funny, Wilde. No. There are, in fact, two reasons you sit here before me." He leaned back into his chair with his fingers intertwined, looking down on Nick; silhouetted by the window behind him. An angel of judgement. "Would you care to hazard a guess?" Nick shook his head silently. He leant forward; looming over Nick at such an extreme angle that Nick's eyes revealed themselves. It was subtle, but the fear was certainly there. "Wilde, as long as you've worked here, you've been diligent, loyal, and ... difficult. But now, you've finally crossed the line."

"Sir, what-"

"I hear everything, Wilde."

Nick's face fell. He knew. "I... uh... I can explain."

"I'd love to hear you try, really I would. You're a cop, Wilde, not a vigilante."

"But, sir, I saved that arctic fox. A key witness who-"

"Shut your mouth, Wilde. It's true, you did save him. That, in and of itself, is commendable. My issue is with your methods, not your results."

"Oh, like you've never gone off book."

"NOT ONCE! I understand your frustration. The case was going slowly, you followed a hunch."

"And it panned out, didn't it? I acted out of necessity and we got a key witness."

"Oh, you did, did you? You could have waited. You could have come to me with your hypothesis and gotten a warrant, or requisitioned a raid party. Which could have saved more than just one person. Instead, you acted on your own, partnered with an unknown quantity. A civilian whose life you endangered. Your reckless behaviour has almost certainly destroyed evidence; and alerted the perpetrators who have doubtless relocated their operation."

"But sir, I-"

"Silence." He sighed and rubbed his temples, easing the migraine Nick was starting to evoke. "If it were up to me, I'd revoke your upcoming promotion and put you behind a desk, and that would be the end of it. Especially with resources as tight as they are."

"Ah! See, resources are slim to the ground, we could never have arranged a raid."

"I said shut up!" Bogo slammed down on his desk hard enough to move it slightly, with a sharp screech. "You're fired. I'm sorry, Wilde. You were a good cop, but you've gone too far this time."

"Sir, please. I need this job. I _love_ this job. I... no one else will hire me. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a job in this town? When you're a fox? Firing me will only reinforce the idea that I'm untrustworthy."

"My hands are tied. Hand over your badge and your gun, and fill out this form." Bogo handed him a sheet of paper; an impossible weight in Nick's hands. This was the end. His hands were trembling, his chest hurt, his eyes burning.

Nick swallowed the painful lump in his throat and tried to speak, but no sound would come out. He swallowed again and gasped for a shallow breath. "Sir, I... they're targeting fennec foxes. My... he's... I just want to keep him safe."

Bogo moved around his desk and knelt beside Nick; placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "We'll do everything we can."

"What... ahem... what... what was the second thing, sir?"

"Oh, thanks for reminding me. I have to follow-up on a report made by an officer regarding harm that may befallen you during your previous occupation."

When he spoke, Nick's voice was low and monotonous. "You mean Judy. She told you I used to be a whore. She shouldn't have told you. I was well looked-after. Honestly, I enjoyed my work there."

Bogo's tone was caring, but firm. "What happened to you was illegal. Child prostitution is utterly reprehensible."

"I wasn't a child. I was fifteen."

"Exactly. Fifteen. Underage. Far too young to consent to anything that was happening to you. I understand you trying to justify what happened to you, but-"

"You're making it sound so much worse than it was. None of us were ever made to do anything we didn't want to. If anyone tried to hurt us, they were thrown out without a refund. Besides, I'd already lost my innocence long before. I was already... dirty. I was fed, clothed, given a roof, and a bed, and... warmth. Comfort! I..." He took a breath to calm himself. "Within the Klaw, you do what you can to provide for the family. You hustle, steal, rob, sell drugs, or you do whatever it is that you're best at. I was best at sex. At pleasing my clientele. That's all there is to it." Behind his shades, Nick's eyes were shut tight; his fists clenched so hard they were trembling; tiny rivulets of blood slipping out through the gaps between his fingers. Staining his fur, his trousers, the form that still sat in his lap.

"I know this is difficult to face, but I need to ask you more questions." Said Bogo, who had moved back to his desk and begun typing; presumably Nick's statement.

"I was there for six years, me and Finn left when I was twenty-one and he was twenty-three. In that time I had maybe four-hundred clients, but I doubt I could identify any of them. After a while, they all blurred together. There were five other girls working there. Hn. 'Girls'. Two of them were male, like myself, but I don't know how old they were when they started. I know Trixxey and Clarisse are still working there, and I recognised one of the bouncers. The, uh, 'talent' at the Overture are all foxes, but the bouncers, bodyguards and other assorted muscle can be anyone, but they're all from the Klaw. There are probably other brothels Meyhew owns; likely dealing with other species, to appeal to other tastes. That's all I really remember."

Bogo kept typing for a moment, then looked up at Nick with his next question, his glasses perched on his nose once more. "You say Finn was working there too, and you left together. When did he start working at the Overture?"

"Oh, Finnick wasn't one of the girls. He was muscle. He might be small, but he knows how to use a bat."

"Baseball or cricket?"

"Oh, uh, baseball. ... What's cricket?"

The sound of typing was his only response. "And to what extent were... undesirables dealt with?"

"I never saw, but it sounded like it hurt a lot. But they never complained."

"Probably because they went there to _fuck children_!"

Nick winced; reality's slap to the face was often cold, and somewhat clammy. "It's not like they ever knew how old we were."

Bogo sighed at Nick's insistent defensiveness. "You don't have to defend them."

"I'm not!" He leapt up briefly; finger extended accusingly; only to fall back to his chair, head in hands, struggling to regain his composure. "I'm really not."

"I think that's everything regarding the Overture for now. If you remember anything else, don't hesitate to give me a call. Now, on to the Klaw."

"Wait, what's going to happen to the people who worked there?"

"Once it's shut down, they'll likely be helped by adult social services. After that, who knows?"

"They're gonna end up on the streets again, aren't they? They'll keep selling themselves, only without the security of the Overture to protect them! Clarisse... Trixxey... they've been clean for years... what if they end up back on smack? Or god knows what else?! I know I would, faced with that life again." He felt like shit. Wasn't he betraying them by doing this?

"Nick, try to stay calm. You can't know that."

Nick leapt forwards again and took the chief's hands in his own. His sunglasses slipped down from his sudden movement, revealing tears in his eyes. "Please, sir. Promise me that they'll be okay. I couldn't live with myself if I let ... if I caused something bad to happen to them."

"You're doing the right thing, Wilde."

"Promise me."

Bogo rolled his eyes. "Alright, you win, I promise." Nick let go of his hands and returned to his seat. "Now, the Klaw. Tell me everything you know."

"I'm tired, sir. And I have to find a new job. Time is money."

"Wilde, sit down. We're not done here." Nick hadn't even left his seat, but the force of Bogo's words had him sink lower. And yet...

"Ha! You can't order me around anymore, I just got fired."

"Well, if you prefer, we could do this properly, in an interrogation room. But I imagine you'd prefer to talk here."

"Fine. You win." Nick sighed. "The Klaw are... complicated. They stay out of the public eye, to the point that most people who aren't involved in the, uh, shadier aspects of the city aren't likely to have heard of them. They consist exclusively of preds, and due to Meyhew Overturio's influence, can be placed in just about any position imaginable. Most of us were brought in young, to my knowledge. I was eleven when Finn brought me in. For two weeks, they asked nothing of me, giving me food and shelter without condition. And then, little by little, I was exposed to everything. Drugs, violence, etc.; I was hooked on heroin within six months. And then me and Finn kicked the habit together two years later. We were each other's distraction during detox. But that's not really important. The Klaw isn't structured like other gangs, but more like a family; we even referred to each other as brother, or sister, or in Meyhew's case, father. The rules were few and far-between, and again, familial. Bedtimes, mealtimes, etc. Structure. Routine. Don't talk back to 'father'. We didn't see too much of him, either; but then, he has a lot of businesses to run. But when he was there, he was loved by everyone." Despite himself, Nick's eyes became wistful and distant. "He ate with us, looked after us, told us stories. He told us that we were cast out from society because we couldn't conform to its expectations of us. And then he taught us that society requires we hide our true nature behind masks. That these masks form the chains that bind us within the artificial construct of civilisation. 'No man is free who must hide his true self. No man is honest when hiding. No man who lies can be free.' He wants to destroy society so that we can be 'free' to live as nature envisions; wild, savage, unstructured, and alone. He indoctrinates everyone into his way of thinking. According to him, civilisation is a necessary evil that must someday be eradicated."

"The man sounds completely insane."

"He is. One-hundred percent. Finn was too angry to properly fit his mask, which might be how he saw through it all to begin with. He always told me it was bullshit, but I wouldn't listen. It was probably part of the reason he convinced me to leave. Meyhew has... a hunger in him. He selects three or four 'pets' to stay by his side. His favourite little playthings. At seventeen, I was chosen. If I went back, he'd probably extend the same invitation, but he just makes me so angry now. I don't know why, but he really gets under my skin. I'd never be able to keep up the facade. Everything he owns has an entrance to the tunnels where I found Callum. And they connect to the sewers a lot, too. I think that's how the bodies end up in the rivers."

"I see..." Bogo produced a map of the city, which sprawled across his desk. He handed Nick a red marker. "Show me." 

"Well, it's been ten years, even longer since I was involved in supply running, but these are all the warehouses I remember." Slowly and carefully, Nick marked twenty-seven crosses all over the map. "I'd be careful who you show this. Given that he's been one step ahead of us so much, there might be a mole."

Bogo raised an eyebrow. "Thank you, Nick. I'll be sure to keep that in mind."

"I'm serious."

"Oh, I'm sure you are." He noted the blood-stained form and produced another, and a pen. Nick still hated to have to leave, especially with unfinished business, but he was too drained from their conversation to really give a damn. With Bogo's occasional prompting, the form was completed and properly filed. Without much of a fuss, but a terrible ache in his heart, Nick relinquished his badge and gun. He smiled weakly and turned to leave. 

"Sorry to see you go, Wilde."

"Me too, sir. It's been a hell of a ride." They shook hands and parted ways. "Oh, by the way, Clawhauser has quite the crush on you." Nick winked as he said this, slinking out of the door with all the grace of a hawk in flight; and leaving his former superior uncharacteristically flustered and quite red. On the way out, he gave Ben a brief explanation, a professional handshake, and a heartfelt hug. He managed to hold a brave face and his characteristic smirk right up to the door, but his first breath of the outside ripped some piece of him away and he had to grit his teeth to keep from crying out in pain. Unbidden, the tears began to fall as he sprinted home, scorching his feet on the concrete of the midday sun.


	13. Collateral

Rusty, sanguine reds. Harsh, venomous yellow-greens. Cold, steely blacks. Guttural, visceral purples. Dancing under his brush and picking out the feverish, unpredictable nature of rage, pain, fear, shame, and isolation. A moment in time, frozen in pigment. A child trapped forever in the dark and cold of that alleyway, illuminated by purity in sharp contrast to the looming shadows that surrounded him. This was twenty-three years the past, yet still it haunted his partner, and so it haunted him.

It had been years since Finn had last painted. His work had always been powerful, harsh, almost difficult to look at. Faces twisted in disturbing hyper expressions. Mazes of swirling colour that ensnared the viewer, never to let them go. The harshness and intensity of life had always been captured effortlessly; as it often is by one who knows pain. Ten years ago, when he had finally convinced Nick to leave the only life they knew, because it was utterly toxic in every conceivable way, money had been tight. Finn's work was seen as too 'real' back then, and what is oil and canvas when food must be put on the table? Without sales, it was too expensive to pursue, even as a hobby. Especially as a hobby. So he stopped. It wasn't until his group leader had recommended art as a valuable tool to freely express and deal with anger that he'd remembered the joy and liberation of painting. It made his heart sing. He felt lighter. He felt that he was made of air and cloud and sky. Made of pure emotion.

So here he was; clad in a pair of denim overalls and nothing else, he stood perched atop a wooden stool before his long-forgotten easel. Armed with a pastel and a brush; blank canvas his mortal foe. He let loose. He had been working for hours, exorcising a long-held demon; the night the only person he'd ever truly loved was tortured and cast aside. It was messy, imperfect; a play of broad strokes and fine details. It held the essence of a fever dream, no, a nightmare. Shaky and distorted. A hellish beauty unmatched by any of his previous works. Seemingly, years away from the craft had honed his skills. In truth, however, all Finn's paintings were like this to some degree. 

The work complete, twisted, ghastly, sublime. He was released from the transient state of a god in the throes of creation and leant back to view his handiwork. Like his earlier pieces, it felt incomplete, as though it was missing something. But that was part of what made it so unsettling and so hard to look away. The mind craves perfection, it craves resolution. Art to bring peace requires this trait. Art to bring dissonance requires its absence.

Fatigued, his demon released from his breast to be imprisoned within oil and canvas, Finn was utterly spent. He felt a deep satisfaction, but also pangs of guilt. Just then, he heard familiar footsteps clambering up the stairs. Nick shouldn't be home yet, and he sounded distressed, based on his gait alone. Suddenly overcome with a sense that he should hide his work, Finn threw a sheet over it, still damp though it was. 

The door flew open and for a moment, Finn's heart was frozen by reproach; but upon seeing the distraught expression his lover was failing to hide, even behind his sunglasses, his own expression softened into one of concern.

"Nick, you're home early. Is something... I mean, what's wrong, babe?"

"Nothing." He lied, contorting his face into a shallow imitation of a smile. His jaw was juddering, his clothes ruffled, his cheeks damp and slightly reddened. Finn looked at him like 'yeah, right'. Hands on hips, tapping his foot. There were flecks of paint in his tawny fur. It was then that Nick noticed the easel. "Hey, you've been painting again. Can I see?" He reached his hand out for the sheet, but Finnick was quick to slap it away.

"No. It's, uh, still wet. And don't change the subject." Finn sighed, shaking his head. "I know you've been crying. Tell me why, so I can help you."

"It's _nothing_ ", he insisted, avoiding Finn's gaze. He turned his back on him and moved around the counter into the kitchenette, to begin rummaging through the various draws and cupboards. Finn sighed, and moved to close the front door that Nick had left wide open.

"If you're looking for a drink, we tossed it all after your last little 'episode'."

There was a thud and a "dammit" from the cabinet.

"You alright?"

"Yeah. Just bumped my head."

Finn moved around to where Nick was knelt, rubbing the back of his head. "Want me to have a look?" He reached towards his partner's growing bruise, only for him to recoil.

"I said it's fine!" Nick snapped. Finn narrowed his eyes and moved away. "Wait. Oh c'mon. Fiiiinn. I'm sorry, okay?"

Finn crossed his arms, and did not turn around. If Nick wanted to be cold, fine. Two can play at this game, and Finnick was no fool. "You were fired today, weren't you?" He asked in an even monotone.

"What makes you say that?" Nick queried in full coy-bastard mode. 

Incensed, Finn flew at him. "I'm not stupid, you son-of-a-bitch!" He landed on Nick's (vertical) chest, grabbing his collar and sent them both careening into the floor; knocking the wind out of Nick. Finn ripped the shades right off his face, so he could look right into his eyes and confront him. "You come home at-" he glanced at his paint-speckled watch "two in the afternoon, out of breath, face wet with tears, no badge on your shirt. How little do you think of me, Nick? Did you really think it wouldn't be obvious?!" Nick's eyes were wide with alarm. Seeing this reminded him of his own eyes when he was a child. Eyes filled with fear, filled with dread, filled with doubt. Was he making those same mistakes? Following the same path as his father once did? Would he become the same monster? Finn relaxed his fists, and relaxed his face, giving Nick a quick peck on the cheek; attempting to be reassuring. "So, what're you gonna do about it?"

"I'll go out tomorrow and I'll get a job."

Finn scoffed. "Good luck with that."

"Ugh, I know. This _sucks_!" Exasperated, he threw his arms up to lie near his head. "Still. Two years a cop, that's gotta count for something, right?"

"It better. I'm not going back to living in a van, pissing in a bucket, and hustling fools to make ends meet." Warm arms pulled him into a tight embrace.

"Don't worry, Finney. I'll think of something." He whispered into Finn's large ears. "By the way, you look sexy in that get-up."

Finn rolled his eyes and pulled back a little, though maintaining the embrace; sensing it was more for Nick's own comfort than for his. "What did you do, anyway?" He asked as Nick began to knead his ears delicately. Which certainly felt nice.

"Oh, I..." He trailed off, sighing. "I did what I had to. To protect you."

Finn immediately pushed Nick away and leapt backwards to a standing position. " _Protect me?!_ "

Nick pushed up onto his elbows as he answered. "They're targeting fennec foxes, Finn."

"Oh, yeah? Who?"

"The Klaw." Finn's rapid blinking was the only response the shocked fennec could provide. "I know. Crazy, right? Meyhew's cooking something up."

"Hf. They wouldn't go after me, you idiot!"

"Oh, yeah? 'Cos, Judy said they already did." Finn scowled and clicked his teeth. "In fact, until I find a way to fix this, I'd appreciate it if you stayed in the house."

"Don't think you can tell me what to do, asshole! I can look after myself. And how're you gonna fix anything? _You're not a cop anymore, Nick._ "

Nick leapt to his feet and snarled viciously. "Oh, yeah?! Well, fuck you too, Finn! Besides. There's more than one way to skin a bastard like Meyhew."

"Nick, what're you thinking?" Nick turned away and said nothing. "You can't be serious. The mob? You're gonna fight fire with fire, is that it?" He shook his head derisively. "Look around you, see everything you have in your life that's good. Really take it in." He walked to his boyfriend and hugged him as well as he could from behind, despite the size difference. "You think you've got it so damn hard, don't you? But we've had it a lot worse, both of us. Look at me, Nick. I'm the one thing that'll never leave you. You hate being alone, so let people in. Let _me_ in. I can help you. Just give me a chance. We're meant to trust each other with everything, aren't we?" There was a long moment where neither one moved, nor said anything. The only sound was Finn's heartbeat ringing in his ears against the echoes of Nick's laboured breaths. A tear fell and glistened in the half-light for an eternity suspended in the air. A microcosm of emotional truth and purity. It burst when it hit the floor.

"I really fucked up this time, didn't I?" He was standing rigid; tension in absolute.

"Nick..." Finn murmured softly.

"No, it's fine. I had a chance to save them and I failed. If I hadn't kept hurting myself, maybe I'd have gotten there in time. Who's gonna tell his mother?..."

"Nick..."

"I knew I was against the clock. I had to do something, but now I've lost the chance to save any of them. But I've already gone off-book, so what does it matter if I sell my soul? The ends do justify the means, and the police are just too slow."

"Nick!" Finn roared, spinning Nick around, pulling him down to one knee, and grabbing him by the face. He gazed into Nick's startled face, and kissed him deeply. "Don't lay into yourself so hard, okay? I don't know what you were talking about in that spiral, and frankly, I don't want to, but you're going to be okay. I promise. I'll do whatever I can to help you deal with ... whatever it is you're dealing with. Just please don't tangle up our lives with the rat again, okay?"

"He's an arctic shrew. And it's a little late for that now..." Nick avoided Finn's gaze again, as much as he could with Finn clutching his cheeks, anyway.

"What the hell were you doin' last night, Nick?"

"Nothing that wasn't necessary."

Finn rolled his eyes and released Nick's face. "Fine. Keep your secrets. Just remember that working with those people is gonna get us killed sooner or later."

Nick's knees were starting to ache, so he stood up. "I know what I'm doing, Finn."

Finn burst out laughing, laughing so hard that his eyes teared up and he staggered around, blindly; as in a drunken daze. Nick decided to ignore his lover's inane (and slightly forced-sounding) cackling and found himself struck by curiosity. What had Finn been painting? And why was he so eager to cover it up? Nick peeled back the sheet and what he saw sent him reeling backwards into the counter with eyes wide as saucers and a feeling of disgust, shame, and self-loathing flooding his gut.

"WHAT... What is... this?" A distorted cityscape; buildings twisting towards the moon up above, the sky twisted so that up was merely forwards. An alleyway pulled into focus by an ethereal light; a reddish hue. Cruel figures' shadows loomed over a helpless kit with tears in his fear-wide eyes. He was wearing the uniform of a junior ranger scout. Was this meant to be him? So weak, so afraid. Pitiful. Pathetic. Was that really how Finn saw him? That miserable creature, too stupid to even run?

Finnick hopped onto the stool beside Nick and gently elbowed him in the arm as a strange show of support. They stood there together, staring into the bleak nightmare that they shared. "This... is... well, it's the source of a lot of my anger. What happened to you that night, it-"

"Stop. I get it. My pain is a burden on everyone around me."

Finn placed his hand gently on Nick's tortured face and turned his head so they were facing each other. "Nick. That's not it at all. I love you, so when something hurts you, it makes me angry. But it's not a burden. I _welcome_ it. If it's the cost of helping you deal, then it's worth it." He softly caressed Nick's cheekbone under thumb, and Nick leaned into the touch, yearning for the comfort it brought. But something compelled him towards solitude. He grabbed Finn's wrist, perhaps a little too roughly, and pulled away, as much as it pained him to do so.

"It really is a beautiful piece. Some of your best work, I think. But if you'll excuse me, it's been a long day, and I want to take a nap." Stoney-faced, he moved towards the bedroom.

"Are you... are you really okay with this?" Finn called out in his wake.

"Yep." Nope. As soon as the door clicked quietly shut behind him, Nick very nearly slumped to the floor. He leant one hand against the wall for support and placed the other on his forehead. 

How could Finn think I'd be okay with that? All this time, does he know me at all? Everything I'm going through and now is when he throws it in my face? What the hell is wrong with him?

He moved in a trance-like state to the bedside cabinet. He opened the draw and rummaged for the hidden latch on the false bottom. Herein lied his safety net; the secret compartment lined with miniature bottles that one might find aboard a plane, or in a hotel bedroom. Soon the pain would be gone. All he needed was one drink. Ah, there it was. With a click, the bottom of the draw lifted out to reveal... nothing. Nothing at all. Where the hell's the booze?! In a frantic state of urgency, Nick ripped the draw clean out of the cabinet and shook it vigorously, as if that would remedy its emptiness. He damn near tore the door to the main body of the cabinet off its hinges. Nothing. There was nothing there! Nick's heart was pounding horribly, in a most uncomfortable fashion. He was ready to dive under the bed and root around down there for something that simply wasn't there when the door swung open at Finnick's behest. 

"If you're looking for your secret stash, I threw that out along with everything else."

Nick stood and quickly ran through his head, searching for the lie he'd use to talk his way out of this one. "Don't start, Nick. Just tell me why. Why are you so hell-bent on destroying yourself?"

"Dammit, Finn! Do you know how expensive that stuff was?!"

"No, I don't." Said Finn, approaching the bed. "So tell me, Nick. Was it worth more or less than your life?"

"I don't have time for this" Nick snapped, pushing past him on the way out, but Finn grabbed his wrist firmly before he even got past the bed.

"Please, Nick." He implored with plaintive eyes clouded by a lens of tears. " _Please_. Just talk to me. Don't shut me out. We used to be so close. You used to shut out everyone else, but not me. But now you've put up walls around me too, and I just want to help you. Stop lying to me, and tell me how you feel. Is it the painting? Just tell me, and I'll put it away so no one can see it again. If that's not enough, I'll destroy it!"

Hearing Finn's plea softened his heart, and weakened his resolve; the only thing keeping him on his feet. Succumbing to fatigue brought on by stress, he sank slowly into the mattress, but couldn't even maintain a sitting posture, so fell sideways. The comfort of Finn's hand on his and the softness of the bed proved too much for him and he began to weep openly. He pulled Finn as close to him as possible and curled around him into the foetal position. He lay there, sobbing and quivering uncontrollably. The tears continued to fall, staining the sheets until Nick didn't even have the energy to continue. His throat sore and his face puffy, he finally stilled. He eased back a little and felt himself relax slightly. Finn lay beside him, lovingly caressing his left cheek.

"There, now. Feel better for all that?" Finnick's rich, smooth baritone was as soothing as it was deep.

Nick squeezed out one last tear and croakily replied. "Yeah."

"I'm glad."

"You don't have to destroy the painting, Finn. It really is some of your best work. I just... I'm not comfortable at all with... what happened to me. I thought I'd buried it a long time ago, but when Judy made me talk about it, everything just came... rushing back, in full force. The nightmares, the addictions, all that pain. All that fear and doubt. It's got me so rattled I can't even control my emotions any more."

Finn smiled a soft, sad smile and gently rubbed Nick's ear. "You never controlled your emotions, Nick. You just hid them. You supressed them. This is better. You're finally facing it, you're finally feeling things again. Soon, you'll have control again, and everything will be okay. You'll see."

Nick smiled wearily and placed his hand on Finn's face; mirroring Finn's hand on his. "I... love you, Finn. More than reason, more than life. I love you so much it hurts me. I died that night, and when we met I was reborn. Every day we've been apart I've died again, and been reborn at every reunion. Without you, I'm dead. Which is why... I..." He swallowed nervously. "I want you to stay by my side, so that we can live forever. Nathan Finnick, will you marry me?"

To say Finn was taken aback would be an understatement at the very least. Wide-eyed, he pulled back, only slightly, but the look of hurt on Nick's expression was heartwrenching. Shocked, confused, pained... "Nick, I... I'm sorry. I-I can't. We _just_ started dating again. I love you, I really do, and maybe one day I will marry you. I'm just not there yet."

All the pain vanished from Nick's face and for a moment, Finn thought he had accepted his explanation. But the pain was replaced by something much worse; nothing at all. Coldly, mechanically, with no expression, Nick moved away from Finn and stood for a moment, before he began to walk away. Finn cried out after him, calling his name, apologising, shrieking expletives, but nothing he could say or do would stop Nick from leaving. He even launched himself at him and grabbed his legs, but Nick blankly shrugged him off. It didn't hurt, but when he hit the floor, Finn couldn't help but feel he'd lost Nick forever. Finn chased him to the door, even as it was closing behind him. He tried to open it but Nick had locked it behind him. By the time Finn had his key, Nick had vanished.

 

Back at the first precinct, Judy had finished Callum's witness report, and was beginning to wonder where Nick was. Was he still speaking to Bogo? What could be taking so long? What if he really _was_ fired?

"Do you think it's safe for me to go home?" Pulled from her reverie, Judy smiled warmly at the diminutive fox, though he was still slightly taller than her, ears notwithstanding. "Or do you think I need a police escort?"

Judy thought about this for a moment, finger on her lip. "Hmm... We can't rule out the possibility that they know where you live. They certainly know where you work, and would most likely be prepared to..." She saw his concerned expression, but thought it best to continue anyway. "...Erase you... You're a key witness, after all. Until such time as this goes to trial, it's probably best you go into witness protection."

"But... my job. My friends. My... ... ...I can't just throw away my whole life!" Tears welled in his eyes, so Judy placed her hand on his in a show of solidarity, or support.

"I'm sorry, Callum. We need to keep you safe. We'll do everything we can to resolve this matter quickly, and then you can return home, okay?" She patted his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "It's just temporary, I promise. Think of it as a vacation."

"Yeah. A potentially indefinite vacation that I can't leave, tell anyone about, or even take my... Tch. This sucks." He huffed, and turned away, as would a petulant child. Understandable, really. It was notable, however, that he left his hand in Judy's.

"If you're married, your spouse may accompany you, as may any children under your care."

"We've only been dating six months. We really love each other. If I just disappear... it's almost as if I never really... Please. At least let me say goodbye."

"I'm afraid it's not up to me. You'll be assigned a case worker, and you'll have to take it up with them." She sighed and stood. "I need to make some calls. Just wait here, okay?"

As good as her word, she was quick to call the appropriate department. The matter was handled efficiently, and professionally. Judy was about to return to Callum and give him the good news... bad news... ... news. Just... news. But the whirr-click of the intercom stopped her in her tracks. "All available staff, please report to the lobby for a quick announcement."

"I wonder what that's about" She pondered, heading to the lobby to be greeted by thunderous applause, hooting, hollering, hull-a-balloo, you get the idea.

Speaking quickly and monotonously, but with deliberate amounts of ... was that pride? Chief Bogo delivered a brief, unimpassioned speech. "Ladies, gentlemen, distinguished mammals of the ZPD, I present to Officer Judy Hopps, in consideration of her services, the promotion to the rank of detective."

"What? But I never even took the exam!"

No emotion crossed the chief's face. "Then consider it a field promotion. Dismissed." As quickly as they'd gathered, everyone dispersed, leaving Judy with a confusing mix of emotions. Did she deserve this? Where was Nick? Does anyone even really care if I get this promotion? What does this change when the ZPD are so short-staffed that uniform officers and detectives have been running double-duty for as long as she'd been there? Feeling a little better and a lot worse, Detective Hopps returned to her duties.

"I thought I'd be happier. Did too much happen too fast?"

 

Silence. Peace. Subdued lighting, and a soft couch beneath as he stared at the cool, grey ceiling near the front door. It was the perfect place to collapse as soon as you got in. It was nice, any chance to rest, to be at ease with oneself, to simply be. These quiet moments were rare for him, but Lucious enjoyed them whenever he got the chance; savouring each as long as it would last. With each gentle rise and fall of his chest, a little more tension left his body. The window allowed a cool breeze to embrace him, the blind fluttering, waving; the graceful motion was soothing. Yet for all this, Lucious couldn't relax enough to achieve sleep. As much tension as he exorcised, one source remained, preying on his mind. Fear. Anxiety. He no longer felt safe in his own home. And where can you run when home is where you're running from?

The door burst open. Lucious shot bolt upright. Betty paused for a moment in the doorway. She was a tall woman, dark fur and rich, chocolate-brown hair in a wavy bob. She had a strong, well-toned frame; contained with a pinstriped, navy blue skirt-suit.

"Worthless layabout. Wastrel!" Betty strode towards him, eyes intense and focused. "Lazing about at home while I work." Smack. It stung. The sound rang in his ears. He tried to hold back his tears, but one slipped out. She smacked him again. "Don't be so weak, Lucious. You used to be able to take a little pain. When did you become so pathetic?"

"I just worked a triple shift. I'm tired. I'm just resting."

"SELFISH BASTARD!" Smack. "Running around playing hero, neglecting your wife. You know I ovulate near the end of the month. I want a baby, Lucious." She smiled sickeningly sweet, and placed one hand on his shoulder, but Lucious flinched at the touch. Her smile faded as quickly as it came. "Are you afraid of me, Lucious?!" Smack. "Coward!" Smack.

"I told you, Betty. I don't _want_ a baby."

She placed her hand on his collar, pressing her thumb into his throat just below the Adam's apple. "I don't care what you want, Lucious." She pushed him down deeper into the couch and straddled his lap. "It would make me so happy. Don't you want me to be happy?" She whispered into his ear, reaching between them to tug at his zipper. Lucious was... far away. Inside his own head, just trying to... escape. 

He was brought back to reality when he was sent flying through the air. Betty was roaring incoherently. He landed with a thud near the small window alcove between the front wall of the apartment, and the wall separating the main living space from the kitchen. He pulled himself up onto his feet just in time for her to roundhouse kick him in the ribs. He slammed into the wall and a small table that housed a delicate floral vase. It wobbled, but did not fall. 

"What is wrong with you? Don't you find me attractive anymore? Pathetic. I'm going back to work once I've found the papers I need, and you'd better have figured out how to get it up by the time I get back." He tried to catch his breath and push off the wall he'd been leaning on, but in so doing, knocked down the nearby vase. It didn't break, however, not that such details mattered to Betty. "That was my grandmother's!" She performed maegeri (the front kick), and knocked him backwards into the wall behind. "Be more careful, you clod. If it had broken..." Her menacing glare was enough. She stalked off, leaving Lucious in a daze. 

He lay there, counting his bruises, wondering if he'd ever do anything to stop her, but he knew deep-down that he wouldn't. He'd never hurt someone he loved. Even if that love was tainted. Even if the friendship that had blossomed into romance was hollow, or a lie. Even if he'd only ever tricked himself into thinking she was attractive. She was aesthetically pleasing, after all. Just not... well, not Nick, essentially. He'd gone his whole life unfulfilled. Who'd have thought slender todds would be what he was missing? A todd is a male fox, by the way. He flinched when she slammed the door. Bad idea, unconscious movements. He coughed up a small amount of blood, and was quick to wipe it away with his pocket hanky. He stuffed it back into his trouser pocket and braced himself for the pain of standing. Ice burnt throughout his back. His bones clicked and ground together audibly. He grunted as he stepped forwards, his toe brushed against the vase. He looked down at it, briefly considering throwing it out the window, but Betty would probably kill him. And he wasn't sure how literal that would be. Instead, he put it back in its place, thanking the god of carpets that the thing hadn't so much as cracked.

This could not continue. No solutions presented themselves, so Lucious decided to go to the local bar. Because alcohol solves everything. And maybe, just maybe, socialising with strangers would do him some good.

 

His arrival heralded by the chiming of the bell overhead, Wolford was greeted by the scents of mahogany tables and rich liquor. He wasn't sure what he was expecting; being as he didn't spend much time in pubs, bars, taverns, or what-have-you. The cheerless smiles, jubilant scowling, dark lights, and bright shadows. All was bizarre in the most ordinary way. 

He stood in the doorway, unsure of himself, of what he was meant to do. Tense and awkward, he skulked to the bar; its only other occupant a slim, toned fox, noticeably fatigued, snout buried in a glass of what smelt like whiskey.

"Is he okay?" He asked the bartender, concerned. The response came in a deep, smooth baritone from the golden-furred jackal, squinting through blue-tinted glasses (probably decorative) while he cleaned a glass.

"Who, Nick?"

"Nick?!"

"Yeah. You know 'im? He's been coming here for years. Haven't seen him for a few weeks. Just let him rest and he'll be fine."

Wolford looked down at Nick's bowed head, filled with worry for his friend. Groaning, Nick began to stir; he turned his head slightly and cracked one eye open.

"Lucious!" Nick proclaimed, launching himself the short distance between them, yet somehow missing. Wolford caught him as he fell off his barstool. Holding him close, he looked into Nick's brilliant-green (if unfocused) eyes. He was grinning broadly, but Lucious had never seen a pair of eyes so full of sorrow. He sighed and nuzzled into Wolford's chest. "You're warm..."

"Are you... what's wrong, Nick?" Nick said nothing and buried his face further into the safety and security of his friend's embrace.

"When he came here, he said that if Finn called I should lie about him being here. That was five hours ago."

"Five hours?!" Wolford shrieked, horrified.

The bartender crushed the glass in his hand and roared at him. "Don't yell at me in my own bar!" He slammed his hand down and the surface cracked. He breathed out sharply through his nose and regained his composure. "Don't worry. I cut him off before he passed out. He's been sleeping for a while." He knelt down and began cleaning up the scattered shards.

Absent-mindedly rubbing Nick's shoulders, Wolford looked down at him, and softly asked "Nick, what happened? Did you fight?"

Nick's poorly coordinated hand made its way to Wolford's bicep and began to rub and squeeze. "Hehe... you're so strong..."

Flustered, blushing, and agape, Wolford tripped over his words somewhat, but spoke regardless. He shook him a little and stared into Nick's eyes, ignoring the sloppy grin. "Nick, please take this seriously! What happened? Are you alright? Did he hurt you?"

A flash of the sombre before Nick buried his face once more. "I don't want to talk about it." Came the muffled, heavily punctuated response. "Please, Lucie. I don't want to talk about it, I don't want to think about it." He met Wolford's gaze and ground their hips together subtly. "Take me home?"

Those hips, those lips, those sultry eyes. How could he refuse? Especially when Nick had begun nibbling his ear and seductively swaying his tail. Wolford swallowed, hard. Cradling Nick in his arms, he picked him up and made his way for the exit. 

"Hey! If you do anything to hurt him, there'll be hell to pay!" The bartender cried, damn near leaping over the bar.

Nick turned his head back to him. "Piss off, Joe Osu. It's none of your business." His response was never heard, because under Nick's spell, Wolford had stepped out the door.

Four flights of stairs later, they were at the threshold. Nick was much more compos mentis by this point, so had stepped down. Cautiously, quietly, and with the greatest of care, Wolford opened the door and looked around for any signs of Betty's presence. Nick ignored all this and walked right past him.

"Nice digs." He flopped down, lying on the couch with his ankles crossed and hands behind his head. "Why do you have a sofa right inside your door?"

Wolford pushed Nick's feet off the couch and sat beside him. He shrugged. "We don't own a TV."

"That really doesn't answer my question." He scooched up to Wolford and ran his hand over his thigh, but Wolford tensed up immediately. He was staring off into space, blankly. Nick cocked his head. "You okay?"

"Y-yeah." He laughed, half-heartedly. "Just nervous."

Nick gently placed his hand on Wolford's cheek and brought his gaze to meet his own. "Listen, if you don't want to- mmph!" Wolford's lips were soft, but firm, moving in tandem with Nick's own. He began to kiss him back, giving just the barest hint of tongue before pulling back. 

"I really do want this, Nick. I've wanted this for a long time, but..."

"But...?"

"You've got your secrets and I've got mine. I noticed you're wearing your uniform, but not your badge, by the way."

Nick straddled his lap and gave him his most alluring bedroom eyes. "Do you want to talk, or do you want to have some fun?" Even before Wolford answered, Nick busied himself unbuttoning his friend's shirt. A thick plume of poofy chest fur was unleashed from behind the first three buttons. Nick rested his head on this pillow while his hands worked ever lower, pausing every so often to tweak a nipple, or caress a firm, and well-toned muscle; eliciting gasps, moans, ands sighs as he went. But then he felt something else. Some sort of cloth. He pulled back far enough to see the bandage.

"Wha-"

"It's nothing." He turned his head to avoid Nick's eyes' burning intensity. 

"This-" Nick poked his bandaged area in the bloodstain, making him cry out in pain "is not nothing." He moved to stay within Wolford's field of vision. "If she's hurting you, _physically assaulting you_ , then you need to do something about it."

"Do what? Call it in and get arrested because we live under the Duluth model? Go to the exactly zero battered men's shelters in this region? Divorce her and have every scrap of dignity ripped away, along with _at least_ half of everything I own, plus half of everything I earn in the future? I am _screwed_ , Nick. What the hell am I supposed to do?!"

"I... I had no idea. Christ, I'm sorry, Wolford." He wrapped his arms around Lucious' neck and pulled himself in close, so that their chests were pressed together. "Whatever you need, I'm here for you."

"Thank you." He grunted, barely seeming to register what was said. "I just wish it would all stop. I wish I had a ... a way out. That I could stop hiding who I am, just live a happy, honest, simple life. I don't want much, Nick, really I don't. I just... I just..." He began to sob, holding Nick much more tightly; desperate for comfort. 

The tears were falling fast and free. All the tension, all the fighting, all the grief and sadness; everything just washed away. He was shaking; a leaf in a storm. Nick had no idea what to do, so he simply lay there, in his arms, little realising just how valuable the simple comfort of his mere presence was. Still, he had to do something. The kiss was soft, chaste; warm and simple as their clasping together. The tears continued as they kissed. The tears slowed as they fell to their side and curled around one another in the narrow space of the sofa. The tears ceased as they simply lay there, just breathing. Hearts just beating. Together.

"Thank you." He croaked, throat sore and scratchy. Face sore and squishy. "Sorry. I guess I killed the mood, huh?" He tried to smile, but couldn't quite manage it.

"Don't worry about it." His head had found its way, once again to Wolford's chest-fuzz. Their hands were loosely intertwined, fingers gently stroking the neighbouring hand. "I'm no stranger to pain, myself. And you know that lately, I've been finding it more difficult to control. The Ancient Greeks saw men's tears as a mark of honesty, so I guess I'm just losing my ability to lie."  
Wolford pressed his lips to Nick's crown, but said nothing. They stayed there for a little while, allowing themselves to just be.

"Nick." He broke the long-held silence.

"Hm?"

"Do you still want to...?" He nodded. "Well, before we do, I think I need to confess something."

Nick sat up, frowning at him, concerned. "Confess?"

Wolford avoided his eyes again, and spoke very calmly, almost without inflection. Gently rubbing his thumb in small circles in the small of Nick's back. "Lately, Betty's been... fixated on the idea of children... and... well, sometimes ... she made me... I didn't... I..." He began trembling uncontrollably, about to cry again, and Nick was quick to soothe him.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, Lucie. I think I know what you're saying, and well, I've been there too. For a long time, it's going to hurt. And sometimes it'll stop hurting, only to start again when you think it's dead and done. Sometimes I wonder if it'll ever stop..." He drifted away for a moment, but then continued. "It's important to remember that it's not your fault, even if it feels like it is, even if you could've done something to prevent it, you can't blame yourself for the actions of your abuser. I just wish I could take my own advice."

The air grew still and cold between them, semi-consciously, Nick brought his hands to opposite wrists and began to scratch lightly, but Wolford took him and held him too close, too tight, too safe, for such behaviour to continue. "I won't ask for details, but I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"It was a long time ago. It's just a part of my past I'm trying to forget. Your pain is more important."

"Why? You're still hurting. Why is my pain any more important than yours?" Nick had no answer, so gave none. He sat up beside Wolford, gripping his knees and looking down at nothing in particular. Wolford sat up too, and placed his head on Nick's shoulder. 

"I need a drink." His voice was dark.

Wolford tried to lighten the mood by remarking "Don't you think you've had enough?"

Nick turned to him and snapped pleadingly. "Wolford, _please_. We've had a difficult conversation and I need something to take the edge off. That's all."

With a hand on Nick's arm, Wolford looked at him and said "We have vodka, but if you're an alcoholic, I shouldn't give you any."

"I'm not. I don't have a problem, I just need a drink, that's all."

Reluctantly, Wolford acquiesced and brought them each a half measure of vodka, cut with plenty of orange juice.

"What the hell is this?" 

"It's a screwdriver, and it's all you're getting."

"Tch. Fine." He hastily gulped down the whole glass, barely tasting the alcohol. "I'm gonna go freshen up a bit, okay?"

"Bathroom's an en suite."

"Then I'll meet you in the bedroom." Nick whispered seductively as he walked past him, hand lingering as it caressed his face. Calmly, gracefully, filled with poise and elegance, Nick made his way through the large, comfortable bedroom, into the bathroom, closed the door behind him, and immediately had a barely-contained freak-out. Standing by the sink, hot water running, he looked himself in the eye and focused on his breathing.

'Just relax, Nick. Deep breaths. Just focus on the moment.' He washed his face and shut off the tap. Looking to the left, he spied something hanging on the back of the door. A set of black lingerie; lacy, frilly, with a short, ruffled skirt. It was made of something soft, something that shimmered. Silk maybe? Or satin? Nick licked his lips. This was going to be fun.

He stripped naked and expertly slipped the sultry number over his head. He busied himself tightening the laces at the back until it approximated his size. It had been a few years since he'd last done this, and his fingers were a little clumsy from the drink, but he didn't find it too difficult. He started at the base and worked his way up, being careful to keep the tightness even on each side. He tied the remaining lengths into a fetching bow about the shoulder level. The arm loops sat just above his elbows, and the skirt hung a little low, but there was nothing to be done about that; it was designed for a wolf, afterall.

Meanwhile, Wolford was sat in bed, the covers drawn up to his chest. He sat nervously, twiddling his thumbs, biting his lip. What was going to happen? He'd never been with a man before. Was he ready for this? Would Nick be upset if he turned him down? Would he regret doing so more, or going through with it more? Hell, he wasn't even sure if he should take off his boxers yet or not. All that being said, there was no denying that he was very turned on at the mere prospect of this opportunity. He may never have this opportunity again, knowing this, he decided to damn his nerves and go for it.

"Hey, hot stuff." Nick was stood in the doorway, draped against the wall, smiling with half-lidded eyes. One arm extended up the frame, the other fell along his body, and onto his jutting hip.

"Is that my wife's lingerie!?"

"Shh... not anymore." He pushed off from the wall and slinked towards the bed, swaying his hips and tail so that they were always on opposite sides, occasionally flicking the tip of his tail out, or across his face. Reaching the bed, he dropped to all-fours and crawled towards Wolford with his back arched. His eyes predatory. His teeth bared. Wolford gulped, his heart palpitating. In one swift, fluid motion, Nick cast the duvet aside. He moved atop him and lowered himself until their flesh was all but touching, ghosting over each other, sharing body heat, but not in contact. This deliberate act of restraint and control left Wolford panting. When Nick kissed him and thrust to grind his exposed member against Wolford's clothed one, he moaned, and Nick grinned; eyes full of fire and lust. He kissed him again, deeper again, rubbing their tongues together while with his left hand, he cupped Wolford's heavy balls, gently nudging them. He moaned again, and a shiver ran through his body; precum forming a wet patch in his boxers.

"Well, you're a big boy, aren't you?" Nick winked and tugged the boxers down to free the beast. It was a sight to behold; red and venous, wider than Nick's fist in places, and even broader at the knot, which was already fully-formed and throbbing. A large bead of pre was dripping from the pointed head. Nick watched it flow down to about the midway point before running his tongue up the shaft to the tip, and licking inside the slit. "Delicious." Wolford felt his cheeks burn at Nick's salacious comment. 

"What do you want to do first?"

""I- I don't know. I've never done this before." His breathing spiked, and his expression tensed noticeably.

"Don't panic, babe. Just relax. I want to make your first time with a guy as fun as possible. So, pick a fantasy. What have you always wanted to try? Do you want to fuck me? Do you want me to fuck you? Do you want me to blow you? Do you want it rough? Tender? Just tell me. _Anything_ goes."

"I guess... I want to try everything. Just... uh, tell me what to do, I guess."

"Okay" Kiss. "I want this guy" He grabbed and tugged Wolford's cock "in my ass." 

"O-okay. W-what do I need to do?"

Nick reached forwards and caressed his face. "Just relax. I'm gonna suck you off, get it nice and wet so it can slide up inside me, nice and easy. Now, you're big for a wolf, and extra big for a fox like me. I can handle the pain, in fact, I once took two polar bears at once and one in the mouth, long story, not really relevant, just bragging. But if you want to make it easier, and to feel less like your dick's being crushed to death, then I need you to prep me. Do you know how?"

He shook his head.

Nick smiled with understanding. "Okay. Do you know what a rimjob is?" Shake. "No? Okay, it's... well, it's when you lick someone's ass." Wolford looked appalled, making Nick laugh. "Well, that part's optional, though it does feel _really good_. What's less optional is fingering me to stretch me open for this lovely piece of meat." He squeezed Wolford again, making him moan. "So, do you have any lube?" Wolford shook his head again. "Well, like I said, I can handle the pain."

"No. I don't want to hurt you."

"Okay, well, while you review your options, I'm gonna show off a little." Nick put his hands on Lucious' hips, opened his mouth wide, and went into a handstand, placing his feet on the wall for support as he deep-throated him His skirt, naturally fell to expose his ass and aching dick. 

"Oh, Jesus, Nick!" He cried out as Nick began to use his arms to raise and lower himself whilst increasing and decreasing suction, and running his tongue over every available part. The feeling was pleasurable beyond measure; the tightness and heat of Nick's throat, the moisture, the teasing strokes of his tongue. He'd never known pleasure like this. Feeling that Nick deserved some reciprocity, so grabbed the hips in front of his face, stretched the cheeks apart, and delved his tongue into depths unknown. Cautiously, experimentally, he slid the very tip of his tongue over the tight ring of muscle and felt it twitch in response. Surprisingly, it didn't taste of anything much, just skin. He pressed a little harder this time, lapping more confidently, and even pressing inside as far as he could, which wasn't far. Still, Nick seemed to like it, judging by the moaning that sent vibrations through his throat and became tingling in his engulfed dick. He was betting bolder, and tugged Nick's tail, while also jabbing his butt with two fingers at once. The moaning became a lot more... vocal. Maybe he was being a little rough, but hey, Nick said he liked pain, right? Nick suddenly stopped his oral ministrations and lifted himself off Lucious' dick with trembling arms, promptly collapsing onto the bed in a heap.

"God, Lucie, I can't wait any longer! I need you now!" He cried out, panting, and reaching back to pull his cheeks apart, tail raised, face resting on the bed with his tongue lolling out. Wolford felt a little nervous again, but moved forward regardless. He positioned himself behind Nick with his hand at the base of his dick. He pressed the tip against Nick's entrance and pushed in with a thumb. They both moaned in ecstasy, even with just the tip in play. With one thrust, Wolford buried himself in Nick's tight, hot, exquisite ass, making him cry out and arch his back; lifting himself most of the way off the bed. Wolford caught him, and pulled him into his arms; caressing Nick's chest and abs and rubbing his own chest against Nick's back. Nick ground his hips back against Wolford's knot, stretching his opening a little further, but not yet taking it. He began to feel heated and moan, which increased to a crescendo as Wolford began to pound away, hard and fast, smashing their hips together six times a second (give or take). Their balls were smacking together; Nick was practically screaming, eyes rolled back into his head while Wolford held his breath, bit his lip and screwed his eyes shut. That massive cock spreading him wide and slamming into his prostate over and over; those hands rubbing his chest, playing with his nipples; the occasional hot breath on his neck; Nick was in heaven. Then the sharpness of teeth on his shoulder as Wolford's thrusts began to get more erratic. Nick knew his lover was getting close, so dug his heels into the bed and grabbed Wolford's ass to pull him closer. Taking the hint, Lucious pressed him down with one hand on his back, while with his other he pulled Nick's tail, and pushed forwards until the knot slipped inside. They both cried out as Nick came harder than he had in ages at the feeling of being so delightfully full. His ass clamped down around Wolford's member, squeezing the cum out of him as they rocked together, enjoying the orgasm while it lasted; then collapsing, curling up together, and remaining tied; panting for breath.

"That... ha... was amazing" Wolford panted.

"Shhh..." Nick's eyes were closed, but he wasn't planning on going to sleep any time soon. They lay there, spooning in nought but skin and borrowed lingerie. At length, Wolford's knot went down and slid out of Nick's ass of its own accord.

"Nick, can I say something?"

"Sure. Anything."

"Okay." He took a deep breath. "I love you."

Nick was up like a shot "What?!"

"What's wrong?"

"You love me?!"

"Y-yeah? Is that wrong?"

Shit. How was he going to talk his way out of this one? His mind was reeling. He blinked, and surprised to find a tear on his face. "Lucious. I... ... I'm sorry. I didn't know you felt that way. I was just surprised."

Wolford seemed relieved, and lay back into the pillows. He bought it. "Ah, good. I thought I'd upset you."

"Listen... I... think I should go."

"What? Why? What did I do wrong?" Well, those words certainly brought back memories. Nick bit his lip and forced back tears; strapping his mask to his skull with duct tape. For once he wasn't going to use it to lie. He would be honest, but keep emotion out of this. He wouldn't hurt him more than he could avoid.

"This was a mistake. An incredible, fun, wonderful mistake. But a mistake nonetheless. I... used you to hurt Finn." As he spoke, he moved to the bathroom, leaving the door open and getting changed back into his own clothes. "If I'd known how you felt about me, I wouldn't have done this. It was never my intension to hurt you, and I'm sorry."

Tears were threatening to fall from Wolford's eyes. His throat was getting tight. "What?" His voice was small, barely a squeak.

"We fought, we made up, I proposed, and he rejected me. It hurt, so I hurt him back. That's what this was. You were just there, that's all. I'm glad it was you, though, or who knows who would've picked me up. I could've ended up in a ditch, and Joe would've killed whoever put me there."

"You bastard!" Wolford screamed, tears streaming down his face. "What kind of fucked up son-of-a-bitch are you?!"

"The most fucked up kind. I meant what I said earlier, though. I really do want to help you however I can. Because you're my friend."

"Get out! Get the hell out!" Wolford started throwing things, Nick coldly stepped around them and left as his dear friend curled up in a ball of pain and rage. The door locked behind him, and the mask fell. Exhausted, Nick sat outside the apartment and wept openly until he fell asleep...


	14. Repercussions

"His name's Nick. Red fox, about four feet tall, green eyes, brown ear tips, socks, gloves and tail. Never knows when to shut up. ... ... Blue button-down shirt, pants, kinda dishevelled. I think he was wearing sunglasses too. ... ... Haa... thanks anyway."

Finn sighed wearily as he clicked the phone back down on its receiver. That was the tenth hospital he'd called. He'd already called all the bars he could think of, and none of the hospitals have seen him either. Where could he be? Resolute in his determination, Finn picked up the phone and began dialling the next number in his list.

A sudden bang caught his attention, and sent his heart into rapid palpitations as the door slammed into the wall. "I'm a detective and nobody cares!" Judy declared as she burst into the apartment with a large, half-empty bottle of rosé claiming much of her balance.

"You're right, nobody does care. So grab a phone and help me find Nick before the idiot gets himself killed."

"Or..." She hiccoughed, giggling a little before catching herself and focusing in on the gravitas of what was happening. "Or we could go looking for him in my cruiser."

"If you thinking I'm lettin' you drive me anywhere, you're crazy. Drink some coffee or somethin', Imma keep calling hospitals."

She meandered around the kitchen counter where Finn stood, and slumped haphazardly against the coffee machine. It was simple, but it produced better coffee than the toxic, black sludge of the precinct. Finn ignored her and returned his attention to the telephone.

"Hey. I'm lookin' for someone. Have you admitted a patient of the following description in the last... six hours or so?" ...

As Finn kept talking, frantic and desperate, Judy dragged her half-conscious body to the table, entire coffee pot in hand. She slumped into her chair; her forehead resting on one hand propped up by the elbow, while the other poured the coffee into her mouth. Slightly slackened though it was. Sloppily slurping, she remained, thankfully regaining composure and sobriety proportional to the consumed caffeine and perhaps to some modicum of a placebo effect when Finn's sudden yelling caught her attention.

"What do you mean what shade of red is he?! He's a fox with green eyes! D'ya know how rare that is?! Now have you seen him or not?! Thank you! God!" He slammed the phone down, nearly cracking it against the receiver before collapsing to his knees, head in hands. "Damn it, Nick. Where the hell are you?" He lamented softly, despair alleviated by a friendly hand on his shoulder. For a fleeting, foolish moment, he though it was Nick. That he'd emerged from the ether to comfort him. When he saw it was Judy, he couldn't help but be a little disappointed. And yet, he was grateful for her kindness, her friendship, even if it was more out of concern for Nick than for him.

"Don't worry, Finn. We'll find him." He welcomed the hug, welcomed her soothing voice, and gentle touch, if only for a moment. He pushed her away almost immediately, then hopped down off the counter, heading towards the door.

"C'mon. I'm driving, even if you have sobered up."

 

Nick roused where he lay against the firm door; alerted by approaching footfalls. He blearily peered through the half-cracked edges of eyelashes' blur, against the blinding dark-light silhouette of impending doom wrapped in a skirt-suit and a foul temper.

"Off my doorstep, disgusting vulper. Vagrant. Wretch." She hissed, hauling him by his collar, Betty flung him aside. He hit the neighbouring wall with a huff as the wind was knocked out of him. 

She turned to her door as Nick dragged himself back to his feet; teeth gritted in fierce determination and moral indignation. "What... did you call me?" He panted, still hunched over, leaning against the wall.

"Don't speak back to me, you... degenerate. You inferior dullard." Nick snarled as she marched over to him. She was of imposing stature, partly because of her heels, but partly because she was a wolf, and as such she towered over him. Easily twice his size. She gripped his throat and effertlessly raised him off the ground, so that their eyes were level. Nick grimaced and struggled against her tight grasp, her thumb against his windpipe as she took an appraising sniff. The look in her piercing eyes shifted from one of mild irritation and prejudicial loathing to one of abject rage. Nick's followed in kind, shifting to utter terror. She knew. She was going to kill him. 

'There's nothing I can do. I'm going to die.'

"You... smell like my husband... SANGUINE WHORE!" She relaxed her grip and punched him into the wall. He was slammed against it, hard with an ominous cracking sound. Before he even had time to fall, she raised one leg and kicked him square in the chest; slamming him back into the wall once more. He felt the back of his head smack against it with worrying force. She stepped away and let him fall to the ground, braced against his hand, panting. His vision swam before his pulsating eyes as streaks of black and grey clouded everything but the red pooling beneath him. The spike of her heel had punctured something. He raised his head and saw she stood with her back to him, adjusting her cuffs. As she sepped out of her shoes, Nick scrambled away, heading for the stairwell; an urgent plea of escape. He was cut off by a sharp kick to the jaw. She stepped with him, one hand behind his head, one hand on his arm, she slammed him into the door. Grabbing his ears, she yanked his head back sharply to peer down into his pain-filled eyes.

Against his better judgement, he spoke. "You're just mad because I can give him what you can't." He growled out, stamping on her foot and grinding his heel in as he turned against her grip. Distracted by rage and pain, she let him slip by.

Nick backed off and adopted a pugilist's stance. He wasn't escaping too easily, it seemed. She screamed something incoherent and lunged at him. He ducked out of the way as she punched the wall hard enough to leave a dent in the plaster. She smiled cruelly and turned towards him, backing him up the stairs. 

'Is she high?! How can she be this strong?!'

Luckily, he was able to navigate the stairs without turning away from her, nor falling. With the high ground gained, he ran along the wall and leapt to kick her in the head, but she simply danced out of the way, took his ankle and swung him around as hard as she could; smashing his entire body against the elevator doors. There was a familiarly sickening crunch-pop as his left leg slipped out of joint. The pain was fire coursing through his entire being from his hip. He clenched his eyes shut and spat out blood. As he fell, she grabbed his tail and yanked it hard, stomping on the root, then up his spine, then on the back of his head; turning with each step to keep her grip. He felt his tail snap as she thrust her foot down between her hands.

He howled in pain. She kicked him in the ribs to flip him over, and then straddled his chest, lacing her thumbs over his throat, pressing them together into the hollow below his Adam's apple.

She leant down to his ear and hissed "I'm going to squeeze the life out of you, faggot."

"Please..." Nick gasped out, breathlessly.

"Good... beg for your life, you miserable slut." He thrashed about, trying to throw her off with less and less success as her grip tightened. His vision began to deteriorate at the edges, his fingers went numb, his chest burnt as he ineffectually opened and shut his jaw, gasping for breath that would not come.

A door slammed open, nearly torn off its hinges behind them. The neighbour; a male pig in a sleeveless vest, brandishing a shotgun, stood in the doorway. Betty rolled in a fluid motion to standing by the elevator. Nick crawled away sluggishly.

"Hey, fox! Don't move a damn muscle. The police are on their way, now start explaining."

He cocked his gun for emphasis, or maybe because he hadn't yet. Nick was still reeling from all that had happened, but Betty was quick to fill in the gaps.

"Thank goodness you've come" She cried. "This awful beast raped my husband."

The pig turned his attention to Nick, the shotgun aimed dead on him.

Nick balked, and though he choked on his words, he was determined to make them heard. "What?! You bitch! How can you say something so awful?! If anyone did that to Lucious, it was you, you psychopath!"

"Hey! Now, don't you go upsetting her any further." He stepped forwards, gun raised to his eye, all attention on Nick as Betty wept crocodile tears.

"Listen, please, I'm begging you. She's been abusing my friend for years. All I did was offer him some comfort. Look at me, I'm covered in blood. I can't even stand."

"If what she said is true, then it's far less than you deserve. It's like grandpappy always said."

"Let me guess. Never trust a fox?"

"Yeah, that's right, never trust a-"

"No!" 

Bang! 

It happened in a flash. Betty blindsided him and blasted his head across every nearby surface with his own gun, which was now turned on Nick. Hearing the commotion, the man's wife and piglet rushed out in their pajamas. "Daddy!" and "Walter!" they cried. They wept over his still warm corpse. With one glare from Beatrice Wolford, all thoughts of vengeance lay silent and futile.

"Now, where were we?" Her eyes glinted with murderous intent. Nick scrambled backwards, hand-over-hand, dragging his limp and useless left leg as well as he could. Betty stepped forwards slowly, calmly, knowing that her retribution was inevitable. Were it not for an intervention no-one saw coming. From the wings entered Wolford. He stood between the other Wolford and her prey.

"This has to stop, Betty. I won't let you hurt anyone else. I won't let you hurt _me _anymore."__

__"Hn. What happened to my coward? Grew a spine, did you? Well, it's too late. I'm not going to let this faggot turn you gay. Nor will I allow the debauchery and perversion of inter-species 'romance'." She spat. "Now step aside."_ _

__"I won't." He shook his head and stood his ground._ _

__"Don't make me hurt you. I just want the fox."_ _

__He shook his head again. "You can't have him." She bared her teeth and barked at him, almost like she was on nighthowlers, yet she was stood upright. Lucious barked back. They stood there snapping at each other like wild things. Betty took a step back and ran her hand through her hair._ _

__"Fine." In an instant she snapped back to blind rage and clubbed him in the head with the shotgun's stock. She stepped past him and pointed the gun at Nick again, who had crawled backwards halfway down one flight of stairs at this point. Without hesitation she pulled the trigger, but Lucie leapt in the way again, he curled around Nick, shielding him as the spray of buckshot ripped through his back. Blood sprayed across Nick's face and a single shard fell in his eye. He spat a lump of bloody phlegm, and his eyes went blank as he slumped forwards onto Nick, who scrambled out from under his weight to embrace him as his breathing slowed._ _

__"Better dead than a faggot." Betty said as casually as one would order a drink. She turned and strode past the corpse and grief-stricken family to raid their apartment unceremoniously for ammunition._ _

__Back in the stairwell, awkwardly bent around a corner in the staircase, Nick held Wolford in his arms, weeping over his friend._ _

__"Wolford... why?"_ _

__"Shh... Anything to save you, Slick. I love you, after all."_ _

__"I see you finally came up with a nickname. Heh." The first tear fell, others would follow. "I'm going to save you. Somehow. I promise. You won't die for me!" Nick frantically searched around for something to help his friend, but found nothing._ _

__"Shh... don't say anything. Just... run."_ _

__"What? No, I won't leave you." He hunched over him, weeping, trembling._ _

__"You must. She'll kill you. Don't let me die for nothing."_ _

__"You're not going to die at all!"_ _

__"Silly fox. Making promises you can't keep. Don't worry about me, okay?" One weak hand lifted up to numbly caress Nick's face and brush away a bloodstained tear. "This is a once in a lifetime request. You're going to..."_ _

__"I won't leave you!"_ _

__"Live." His eyes flickered shut, and his breathing stilled._ _

__"Don't leave me!" Nick allowed himself a moment to cry, knowing he would have to leave soon. He would have to move to survive. He couldn't breathe. One more moment, and then he would move. One more moment. And another. And another. Another._ _

__Betty's footsteps were coming up fast, but still he couldn't move. At last, he snapped out of it when he heard the barrels of the shotgun lock back into position around their next two shells. Wearily, he crawled down the stairs as fast as he could, which was slower than a slow thing. Slower than a syphilitic slug with too much shopping. The mind sure thinks weird stuff... near the end._ _

__"Go on. Run. Limp away. Cling to your pathetic life without honour." She crowed, catching up to him with every slow, measured step. She kicked him down the stairs, leaving him sprawled on the next landing. He lay there, dazed, barely having the energy left to blink. To draw breath. To be._ _

__"Stand up." Came the order as she loomed over him. Nick didn't move. He couldn't comprehend the instruction, let alone follow it. "Stand."_ _

__"I can't." She clubbed him in the head for his insolence._ _

__"Stand." Eyes closed, arms flailing in the dark, burning with every inch he dragged from them, urging himself towards the wall. Finding the lowest banister, he hauled himself up, pain shooting through his left hip. His right leg trembled under his weight, as he clawed his way up the wall to not-quite stand._ _

__"Open your eyes."_ _

__"I can't. I'm so tired. So tired..."_ _

__"Shh." She caressed his face with sinister gentleness. "Soon you can sleep forever. Now... open your eyes."_ _

__With immense concentration he forced his eyes open and met her gaze. She pressed the barrel against his throat, almost choking him._ _

__"Any last words?"_ _

__"I'm... sorry." The tears were falling fast now, but Nick barely even registered them. He just knew his face was wet and his eyes were burning. But he did not sob, nor weep, nor cry. His tears simply fell without any of the accompanying symptoms. "I'm so sorry."_ _

__She smiled. "You killed my husband."_ _

__"I'm sorry."_ _

__"Good."_ _

__'I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry Im sorry Im sorry Imsorry imsorryimsorrysorrysorrysorysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorry..._ _

__'I'm so sorry'_ _

__I accept my fate. I close my eyes, and breathe my last breath. This is... a fitting end. For one such as I. Living on borrowed time. Sinner and sinned upon in equal measure. A wretched, worthless, meaningless existence. I guess you finally caught up to me, eh? Sammael? Take me then, under your skeletal wings, and fly._ _

__

__Something large and grey wrestled with something large and black over something long and steeley. A thud. A bang. A voice? Someone talking? Gruff, deep... familiar... who is that? What name is that? Who's Nick? Is that... me? Why am I over there? I look so far away... Come back... don't leave me._ _

__

__He snapped upright, or tried to. He was strapped to a stretcher under blue and red flashing lights. Rhinowhitz was talking to a feline paramedic. A jaguar, he thought._ _

__"My eye is itchy." He didn't realise he'd spoken, but he was answered nonetheless._ _

__"Let's have a look." An otter? Another paramedic? A bright light and something red. Was that the inside of his own head? "Hmm... looks like some grit or something. Caroline!" He called his coworker, who rushed over to stand beside him, and they plucked something from his eye with utmost care and precision, but Nick didn't care, so it seemed to go by quickly. Where was he, exactly?_ _

__"Am I... dead?"_ _

__"Ha. No, you're fine. You're lucky, is what you are." Who spoke? Was it both of them? They seemed to blur together._ _

__"Nick!" That voice he knew. It was Finnick, his beloved, his betrothed... no, wait, that... hadn't worked out... or had it? He couldn't quite recall._ _

__"Is that you, Finn?"_ _

__A gentle hand brushed his cheek. He wasn't sure whether to flinch or draw closer into it. He stayed still. "Yeah, babe. It's me. How are you doing?"_ _

__"I'm sorry." 'I've been saying that a lot.'_ _

__"We need to get him to hospital as quickly as possible. You can ride with us, but please let him rest."_ _

__Darkness._ _

__Images drifting in and out._ _

__Were they... dreams? Memories? Is this the future or the past? Am I dead? Oh, god, I don't want to die._ _

__He sniffed as he woke up, but smelt little. "Wolford?"_ _

__A dark room. Was he alone, or not? It felt like both. This place smelt... too clean. Almost gross. Oh god! Oh god no!_ _

__"HELP! HELP!!!"_ _

__A strong, caring hand held him down. "Nick, Nick, it's me. It's Finn. You're safe. Just try and rest, okay?"_ _

__"I'm not safe! This is a hospital! People _die _in hospitals!"___ _

____Finn insisted on holding him down until he settled. "Babe, relax, okay? I'm not gonna let anything bad happen to you." A hand on his. "I promise." Soft lips against his muzzle. He flinched away. Everything hurt._ _ _ _

____"Sorry."_ _ _ _

____"Man, stop apologisin', a'ight?"_ _ _ _

____"Right, s-... heh. I'm glad you're here."_ _ _ _

____"Course I am."_ _ _ _

____A headache came out of nowhere, and he brought his free hand to his temple, the other filled with wires and tubes and other god awful shit. 'I really hate hospitals.'_ _ _ _

____"Finn, what... ugh... ... what _happened _?"___ _ _ _

______He could feel Finn's eyes on him in the dark. "You _really _don't remember?"___ _ _ _ _ _

________"Just... pieces. I think I hit my head. Was I in a fight? That's... weird. I don't usually fight when I'm drunk."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________A thumb brushed the back of his hand. The bed moved slightly and he felt warmth beside him. "Your friend's wife attacked you."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Nick sat blot upright, and immediately regretted it. Pain flared through his left hip, back, sides, everywhere._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Easy, babe. Don't move around so much. Lefty popped out again."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Ugh. Again?! Stupid hip. ... Wolford... oh, god, Wolford..."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"What about him?" A slightly harsh tone._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"I killed him! She was gonna shoot me, and he saved me, and he's dead! I killed him!" He clenched his jaw tight, dared not to breathe, but the tears spilled out regardless. "Dammit! Now I'm crying again! Damn." He rubbed his eyes, almost pulling out his IV by accident._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Hey. Easy, babe. He's fine."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"What?" Nick sobbed in disbelief, feeling overwhelmed. Finn held him closer and softly cooed to him until he calmed down._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"He's... critical, but he's stable. The doctors think he'll wake up any day now."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Any day now..."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Yeah." He rubbed Nick's back in small circles, trying to avoid the bruises._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"How long have I been asleep?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"..."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"How. Long."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Don't worry 'bout it."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Finn! Ow..." He hurt himself yelling._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Hey, easy. People are trying to sleep." Finn could tell, even in the dark, that Nick was glaring at him. He sighed, resigned to the truth. "Just a few days. Not that long."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"If it's not that long, then why didn't you just tell me?" Nick was pouting, he could tell._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"I didn't know how you'd react. Look, it's late. Just try and get some sleep, alright? I'm right here if you need me."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Wait!" He grabbed Finn's hand._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Babe, I'm right over here."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Please. Don't go. I'm..." Scared, was the unspoken word._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Okay, babe." Finn relented and lay down beside his... what was Nick to him, now? Were they still together? What a stupid thought. They'd always be together. In one way or another. And... no matter what he did, he's suffered enough, right? Finn thought so. He'd meant it when he said he'd marry him one day. But he'd also meant it when he'd said he wasn't ready yet. Why couldn't "someday" be enough? Finn knew the answer. Nick needed control, he needed certainty. He needed it like Finn needed ... well, like he needed Nick. Whatever they were, they could work it out. Tomorrow._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	15. Convalescence

Fog, drifting through a sleeping mind. Gentle notes of softness whispered in ethereal nothingness. The touch of lost lovers, lascivious in their languorous listlessness. Gradually groomed against the grain. Years yearned for; relinquished. Youth yearned for; lost forever, never to be reclaimed. Innocence in the wind, blown harshly away by every heated, panted breath. Frail rose petals, grey-brown, dry, rough, collapsed in the wilting touch of air too close, too hot. Longing for the storm that would quench that thirst. Parched of the drought by being torn apart instead. Each touch less soft, less gentle. Endless colours of fur, eye, spirit. Countless faces blurring together into one that hasn't got a name. This vagueness gained distinction; a dark-eyed fox with a wolf's mane and a gentleman's demeanour. "You were always my favourite..."

Screaming in the darkness of too-bright light. Sat bolt upright, claws digging deep into his scalp, he tried to rip his skin from his tortured form. Face contorted in pain and horror, crying tears red with blood. Throat burning. Who's screaming? Who's screaming? 

It pained Finnick beyond words to see his beloved in such distress. He didn't know what to do, as Nick sat there; screaming, and scratching, and weeping. Wrapped in bandages; his right eye hidden, his body swaddled and cradled in them; broken. He moved to place his hand on Nick's shoulder, but before he can do anything, a series of orderlies swarm in; summoned as if from the ether by the rapidly beeping pangs of a tortured heart and soul. Finn is thrown from the bed in his desire not to impede their movements hastened by crisis, made precise through years of practise. This team, this faceless, and terrifying mass restrain the wild one; still thrashing, still screaming. Straps are attached to his wrists and ankles, but they do little to hold him down. Enter the doctor; a white-faced female raccoon with a green turtleneck beneath her white coat. Instantly, her presence commands her subordinates. They await the orders of their general; proud soldiers in the war on death.

"Administer nought point one milligrams of lorazepam. Immediately." There was a chorus of 'yes, doctor' and a small syringe of a clear fluid was applied to his left arm.

"What're you doing?! What're you giving him?!" Finnick cried, trying to keep his breathing under control and resist every instinct screaming at him to kill these interlopers and get them the hell away from his second heart.

"Relax, Mister Finnick." Said the doctor. "It's just a mild sedative." 

"Are you aware of..."

"Yes, Mister Finnick, I'm aware of his history with substance abuse. That's why I'm using lorazepam." There was a slight weariness to her voice as she said this. Nick was still trembling, but his struggles were beginning to wane. Finn bit down on his finger and watched on with his pulse pounding in his ears, which were plastered to the back of his head with worry. About a minute after the initial injection, Nick's body stilled and his breathing evened out. Finn hopped up onto the bed to peer sorrowfully at Nick's not-quite peaceful face. Doctor Clorinthy strode up to Nick's left side and placed her hand along his jaw, moving his head and checking for a response of any kind. The lid of his one good eye was heavy and drooped low over the iris. He was able to open his eye a little, but it just rolled before falling closed once more. "Mister Wilde. Can you hear me?" She snapped her fingers by his ears and tapped the side of his face gently with an open palm. He murmured, and waved his left arm vaguely, but gave no other response. "Mister Wilde." She said with a little more force. His eyebrows knotted together with the effort of his concentration, and blinked (well, winked, I suppose), before successfully forcing his mind to focus.

"Whuzzat... whurrmah?" He slurred.

"Patient is hypnagogic." She noted. "Nurse O'Hara."

"Ah- yes! Yes, doctor!" The cream-coloured hare snapped to attention. The orderlies sensed they were no longer needed and filed out of the room. 

Doctor Clorinthy turned to her second-in-command with a mildly furrowed brow. 'I really need more coffee. How can she be so sharp two-thirds of the way through a twelve hour shift?' "Stay with the patient. Report to me immediately if there's any change. And Mister Finnick?"

"Yeah, Doc?"

"I have a job for you. Talk to him. Try to keep him awake until it wears off. When he gains full lucidity we'll need to run some tests." She began to walk out of the room, and Nurse O'Hara took up a seat at Nick's bedside for her post. Finn called out after the good doctor.

"Wait, what if he falls asleep?"

"Hopefully nothing." She waved absently with her back to him as she left.

"Don't worry, Mister Finnick. I'm sure we can wake him up if we need to."

Finn crouched by Nick's head and started absentmindedly poking him in the gum. "You can drop the Mister. Most folk just call me Finn. 'Ey, Nick! Wake up, would ya?!"

He sniffed and drew his eyelid up with tremendous toil and managed to focus in on what was happening. "A'right, a'right, I'm awake." He stifled a yawn. "Wha's goin' on?"

"You're in hospital. Remember?"

"Uhh... yeah..." 'Christ. If he's gonna be this vague, Imma punch a wall. The hell'd Clorinthy give him, anyway?' 

O'Hara leant over the bed awkwardly and whispered into ears even larger than her own. "Don't try telling him anything important. He probably won't remember anything until the Ativan wears off."

Well, isn't that wonderful? Finn noticed that Nick's eyelid was starting flicker shut once more, so he did the only rational thing and shook him by the shoulders. Gently, mind you, but O'Hara still yelled "Don't shake him, what d'ya think you're doin'?" She had a weirdly pronounced Brooklyn accent for someone in a reality where neither Brooklyn nor any borough of New York exists. And yes, the narrator is high on everything. _Everything._ At any rate, it did the trick. For now. This was going to be an ordeal.

Over the next few hours, Finn did everything he could to keep Nick awake. Forcing him to concentrate on intermediate maths (too easy and he wouldn't have needed to focus, too difficult and he wouldn't have been able to), making him write or draw in the sketchbooks Finn had brought to occupy himself (which were now sullied with indecipherable, illegible garbage), and reminisce about their past together (nothing either too upsetting, or that would get them in trouble with O'Hara). It was rough going, but gradually, he became more aware of his surroundings, and of his own brain. The effort to get any sense out of him had been taxing, and had left Finnick with a severe migraine that he hid out of consideration for his lover.

Once Nick had regained lucidity, O'Hara went to summon the good doctor, who took her sweet time getting there. But, it is a hospital, and such things are to be expected. She entered the room with the same air of authority she'd had before. When Nick turned to face his good eye towards Finn, he found that he'd moved without his noticing, and had taken position in a nearby chair; sketching away with a determined brow. It seems time was slipping away. Was this a result of the drugs, or the fatigue?

"Good morning, Mister Wilde."

"It's Officer Wilde, no, wait..."

"No, it isn't." Finn interjected, absentmindedly and without looking up. Perhaps he didn't even know he'd spoken.

"No, it... isn't. I forgot."

The doctor hummed and showed mild concern. "How are you feeling?"

"My teeth are itchy. And... am I blind in one eye?"

"No, it's a bandage. There was a small scratch in your sclera. One thing I'll be doing today it checking if it's healed, and if it has, how well you can see with it." There was a small pause. "Do you have any other memory problems?"

Nick blinked slowly, still a little groggy, slightly disoriented. "I-uh- I don't know. I don't remember forgetting anything."

Clorinthy smiled at his sarcastic attempt at wit. "I suppose you wouldn't, would you? What's the last thing you remember?"

"I don't know" He shrugged. "Waking up here? Before that... it's kinda fuzzy." He rubbed his furrowed brow; with his eyes screwed shut in intense concentration. Some images came to mind, but as he said, they were fuzzy. As though the screen on which they were viewed was beset with static. Black, broken lines seemed to streak across it. There was a woman without a face. Something inside him felt very uneasy about her. He couldn't tell what species she was. The room was confused too. Features and objects distorted and seemed to shift about. There were doors nearby. Two of them, close by, then one far away, then four in the middle distance; then eight doors made of glass, stacked on top of each other. Then they were opposite each other, or side by side. Open, closed, ajar. The walls couldn't decide their height, or if they had windows, paint, wallpaper, or anything else. Everything kept changing, yet did not change. As it was so rapid; too rapid to hold onto any detail, it was an indistinct blur to Nick. A jagged mess of scribbled lines constantly rearranging. The light was dim. 

"Mister Wilde?" Clorinthy asked with her head cocked. It had been five minutes.

"Uh, yeah. Sure, I remember everything now."

She raised her brow in disbelief. "Really?" She deadpanned.

Finn sighed. "Don't lie to the doctor, Nick. Cooperate, and you'll get better sooner. Get better sooner and you get to go home sooner. Capiche?" This he pronounced in the manner of spoken Italian; as though the beginning c were a ch, and the e was present, though underplayed. Or, at least Nick thought it sounded authentic. He didn't speak Italian, even if he did once work for the mob. Once. Or twice. Or perhaps... 

Doctor Clorinthy snapped her fingers in front of Nick's face to recapture his attention. "Do you remember how you were injured?" She asked, suppressing about ninety percent of her frustration.

"Yes. Yes I do. One-hundred-percent." She leaned in expectantly. Nick widened his eyes (or eye) and began to flounder as he burrowed backwards into the pillows. "Uh... I was ... attacked?"

"Are you asking me, or telling me?"

"Both?" She sighed. Finnick sighed. Nick blushed. "Ah... let's see... so... that happened" he glanced at Finn "then that... then... oh! Wolford came to pick me up. Then, um... yeah... ahem."

"Don't beat around the bush. I already know." He muttered something under his breath. Something about being able to smell him all over you.

"I'm... sorry." He lowered his head in shame and dropped his ears flat against his skull. Finn muttered something that sounded like 'forget it' and went back to his drawing. Nick's eyes lit up with remembrance. "Is Lucious okay?! I want to see him! I-" He cut himself off and glanced sideways at Finn; biting his lip with guilt. That guilt ran twofold. 

"He's still sleeping. Right now, let's concentrate on you."

"But I..." He began to mumble. "It's my fault he's hurt."

"Nick -" Finnick started, but the doctor cut him off.

"It seems your memory is largely intact and should return on its own with time. Next, I'm going to take a look at that eye. Just relax." She instructed as she took a small pair of surgical scissors from her jacket pocket, and began to cut through the white cloth, just behind the first set of staples. She peeled it back, gently, though it was a little stuck in places due to a buildup of pus. He opened it slowly and found that it was a little red, especially around the stitches in his sclera. His sight was slightly blurry for a moment, then regained clarity as his left eye gained tolerance. "Oh dear. Looks like an eye infection. I'll clean it for you and prescribe some antibiotics. How's your vision?" She asked as she began dabbing at his eye with a cue tip dampened with saline solution. It stung a little, but he could tell it was helping. It was not until the dull itch began to fade that he was aware it had been there in the first place.

"It seems fine." He answered, though he winced as she began to shine a bright light in his eyes to look at his retinas, pupil dilation response, etc. He followed her instructions and looked this way and that; instructions he'd never understood when asked before, the one time he'd been to an optician in his youth. Apparently, his father had worn glasses, so his mother had been concerned that he might need them too one day, but thankfully, that was an expense they'd been spared.

Doctor Clorinthy left for a moment and a pregnant hush hung betwixt fox and fox. Nick stared at his hands in his lap, not sure what to say, nor how to say it. Finn burnt a hole in his notebook with his eyes; sketching over the lines, pressed down upon by the weight of that tangible silence. The last hundred pages of the low-quality notebook he'd bought in the hospital cafeteria were filled with pictures he'd drawn to distract himself. From his rage at first, then his worry and Nick's pain. Drawings of Nick and him, from memory, from life. It was the latter; and agonising over every detail of his broken form that had driven him to forgiveness. To forgive Nick's infidelity, that had been the reason for five out of six of their breakups, and to forgive his own inability to let go of the past.

Nick fumbled and tripped over himself trying to speak, but just as he managed to awkwardly squawk a gasping croak, the good doctor returned with the eye drops and instructed Nurse O'Hara to administer them three times a day, in both eyes, and then roughly adjusted Nick's head to put them in.

"Hey! I can do it myself, you know!" He protested indignantly. There was a barely perceptible rolling of her eyes, but no other response. This just annoyed Nick more. "What, did you not get your coffee yet?" The next sound out of his mouth was a flustered cry of mild pain as the drop stung his eye, held open with gentle-firm insistence from Clorinthy's fingertips.

"As a matter of fact, I do need more caffeine. Believe it or not, you're not my most difficult patient. My advice? Doctor's orders, you might call it; do as I say, and you'll get to go home sooner, and I won't have to deal with you anymore. Everyone wins."

A pang of not-quite-guilt, not-quite-shame struck Nick in the heart. "Sorry. I don't mean to be..."

She sighed softly. "It's fine. I should apologise. It's not appropriate to vent my stress on a patient."

"Well, we're both at fault. Listen, it's a bit bright here, doc, can you do anything about it?"

"I'm afraid that's just the way it is. Now that you're out of your coma, you probably don't need to stay in intensive care. We have a few more tests to run, but if all goes well, we'll move you to nocturnal mammals tomorrow. Speaking of which..." She put down the drops, and got out her clipboard and pen, which were never far from her side, it seems. "How's the hip?"

"Never been better." Nick deadpanned, narrowing his eyes. "Are you freaking kiddin'? It really hurts."

Doctor Clorinthy simply exhaled but showed no other reaction. "I appreciate that. Can you move it at all?"

"No problem." He pulled the covers back enough to free his left leg; and was appalled by the bruising that covered it; especially around the hip. He grimaced, and held his breath as he slowly began to raise it, inch by inch, grunting all the while.

Finnick looked up from his notepad, and voiced his concern. "Nick, don't push yourself."

"I'm fine." He growled out through clenched teeth; screwing his face up in concentration.

"Seriously, Mister Wilde, you don't need to prove anything."

"I'm fine." He continued to insist as he raised his straight leg yet higher; already past the forty-five degree angle mark. Everyone became increasingly panicked, and flapped about, unable to directly restrain him without injuring him, unable to talk him out of it. 

"Don't let your pride get in the way of recovery!" Finnick yelled (earning himself a glare from Doctor Austerity). But the only response they got was I'm fine, or, I can do this. At length, Nick raised his leg to the vertical, then collapsed, exhausted, relieved, and riddled with self-satisfaction.

"Idiot!" Finnick cried, and moved to slap him (even if it meant jumping across the room), but Dr. Clorinthy effortlessly caught his wrist in mid-flight and held him in the air.

"Mister Finnick" She said without emotion. "Continue to accost my patient, and I shall have you removed. As for you, Mister Wilde, pull another stunt like that and I'll have to sedate you, understand?" Nick said nothing, he just looked at Finn; both their faces aghast with shock, hurt, and guilt.

Once grounded, Finnick muttered "shit" and walked away; face hidden, inscrutable.

"Mister Wilde?" The doctor pressed. 

"Y-yeah. Sure. Sorry."

She sighed. "No harm done." Nick let out a sigh of relief. "This time." She spoke much more sternly, glaring daggers that pierced his soul. "Now, the next matter; the tail."

"The tail? What's wrong with my tail?!" He began to freak out.

"Don't be too alarmed, take some deep breaths."

He put up a show of doing such, but it had little effect, though the encouragement received was nice enough. "Please. What's wrong?"

She ran her tongue briefly over her lips with consideration as to how to broach the subject. "There was some... damage. During the assault, you might recall your tail was broken; perhaps it caught on something, or-"

"She broke it. Deliberately." He interrupted. "Sorry."

"It's quite alright. That would explain it. You see, it's a compound fracture, which would ordinarily be a relatively simple thing to treat; not as simple as an ordinary fracture, of course, but still. Additionally, as the tail is an extension of your spine..." He began to hyperventilate, but said nothing in response, so she continued. "...and given the swelling around the injury..."

"No. Please, no. Not my tail!" He began to sob, unable to control it, try as he might. "D-dammit! I'm not going to cry!" Too late. He was already shaking, tears rolling down his face.

"Nothing is confirmed yet. But it is a possibility that you might have lost some feeling, some capacity for movement, or both. So please, I want you to try and move it, if you can."

"YOUR BEDSIDE MANNER IS SHIT!!!" He screamed, spitting fire. "Where's Finn? Where's my boyfriend?! I need him! Finn!" He called out, amidst his weeping; surcease with sorrow as he trembled, unable to contain himself, so opting instead to thrash about like a wild animal.

"Mister Wilde. Control yourself." She held him down by the shoulder; which was surprisingly easy, given his weakened state. "Nurse O'Hara, if you wouldn't mind?"

"Uh, right!" She rushed off to who-knows-where. No sooner than she had left, she returned, for Finnick had been just outside the room.

The familiar weight of Finnick by his head was all it took to calm Nick down somewhat, as, still sobbing, he clutched tightly to his form, awash with tears; ears were stroked, cooing ensued, and so forth. "I'm right here, babe. I'm sorry I-"

"I'm sorry! I had it coming! I-"

"Shh, shh, no, babe, no. Shh. It's okay. I-I'll do better, a'ight? I won't ever hit you. I promise. And if I ever break that promise, kick my ass for me, okay?"

Half-laughing, half-crying, Nick croaked out the single word "Okay."

"If you've quite finished" Doctor Clorinthy snapped, not one for public displays of affection, overly-long farewells, time-wasters, or the colour pink.

"Sorry, Doctor. Nick just needed-"

"-Yeah, yeah. So, can you move your tail, Mister Wilde?" She pressed, growing rapidly more irritable with every passing nanosecond. 

Nick clutched Finn all the tighter as he curled onto his right side to try and move his tail. There was a horrible silence that lasted all of a second, but dragged out for years in his mind, before Clorinthy declared; it seems we're all good here.

"Oh, thank God!" Nick shuddered as he let out the breath he'd been holding and began to weep again, this time with the laughter that he and Finn shared in that single, shining moment.

The last thing she did was gently apply pressure along Nick's tail, starting just below the break, and working her way down; checking each time that he could feel her fingertips squeezing ever so softly. He laughed in his euphoria; the answer was always yes.

"Oof. Ow. Been laughing too hard, I guess."

"You okay, Nick?"

"Yeah, just... sore."

"Regrettably, I can't administer sufficiently potent pain-killers to someone with your history."

"Doctor Carmine-"

"Doctor Carmine was caught fencing morphine. I'm afraid your supplier is no longer employed at these premises." She rubbed her forehead wearily.

"My supplier?!" Nick scoffed, but he was silenced with a raised finger.

"I don't feel like arguing about that... degenerate. Just try to get some rest, okay? I have other patients to tend to."


	16. Adrift

Her heart was absent. Lost in the dark, but she knew where it was. Outside her body; where she had to watch it grow and be nurtured by someone else. A nobody. A shadow. A hollow shell. Completely and utterly alone. Completely and utterly empty. 

'How could this happen?' She thought, wandering around the vacant apartment in a shirt that still smelt like him. Restless, and anxious, she meandered without aim, without end. 'What did I do wrong? Why did he leave me? Was I a bad girlfriend? I did everything I could for him, but how can I support someone if I don't know what the problem is? Why didn't he say something? Am I not good enough? Doesn't he trust me? For two years he held onto this pain, and he smiled at me every day. Was that to protect me, or himself? Was this my fault? If I'd supported him more, would he have broken the rules? Would he have been fired? Would any of this have happened?' She bit her lip, wandered to the fridge, looked inside, sighed, closed the door and went back to her ceaseless pacing. 'Why doesn't he love me? Did he ever love me? Why did I ever come here? This city is poison. Maybe I should just go back to Bunny Burrows. Back home. How could this happen? What did I do wrong?...'

Her endless cycle was interrupted by the front door bursting open. Her heart leapt into her throat, but she didn't make a sound until she registered Finn marching into the room and tossing the keys into a bowl on the kitchenette counter top as the door swung shut behind him.

Judy swarmed him immediately. "How is he? Is he okay? Is he awake? What's happening? Did he say anything? What did he say?"

With weary patience, Finnick sighed and tried to move around the frantic hare. "He's fine, Jude. He's-"

"Really?!" She sighed. "What a relief. Did he ask about me? No, I don't wanna know. Oh, but what did he say?! Finn, please, tell me something, anything!"

Finn rubbed the sleep from his eyes and continued to try and get around her. He was anxious to get back to Nick, and didn't have a lot of time. "He's sleeping. I came home for a shower and a change of clothes, but I wanna be back before he wakes up. Now would you get outta the way?" He tried to brush her aside, but she slammed herself into the bathroom door, barring his entry. "Judy. _Move_."

She shook her head. "I can't. I have to know. I have to know he's okay. I have to know I didn't kill my best friend!" she sobbed.

"If you wanted to know how was doin' you shoulda showed up at the hospital, instead of hiding here with that fluff you call a tail between your legs. If you really cared, you'd've been there for 'im. You would have sat there, for three days, waiting for him to wake up, staring at his broken body fighting desperately for life." He swallowed back his tears, his voice quivering. "Now get the hell outta my way!" She didn't move, so he grabbed her shoulders and span her around, knocking her to the floor, little caring if she was hurt. Fortunately, she wasn't, but still. He stormed into the bathroom, only for Judy to slip through the door behind him as it closed. "Judy? The hell?! Get out!"

"No! I need to understand! I need to know that I... I just... what was I supposed to do?" Finn started the shower and shed his clothes carelessly. 

"I don't have time for this, Judy. Stay. Go. I don't care, just don't get in my way." He tried to step into the tub, but she grabbed his arm, and wouldn't let go. She was, truth be told, walking on mightily thin ice at this point. Tears in her eyes, the room filling up with steam, Finn shaking his arm in her grasp, trying harder and harder to hold back his rage until he snapped. Literally. Started gnashing his teeth at her until she recoiled in shock, as if burnt. 

She gasped. " _Finn_!" she pleaded as he stepped under the spray of the water; the heat soothing his tense, tired, and aching muscles. Three days asleep in a chair is... less than ideal.

"Sorry, Jude. You can stay and talk if you want, just don't slow me down." As he ran his hands over his body, and began working shampoo into his knotted fur, teasing out the strands until it was smooth and silky again, Judy spoke to him through the curtain. She was sat on the floor, with her back against the side of the tub.

She sighed, gathering her thoughts, unsure how to begin. "Finn, I... I don't... why?" she keened, ending the last word with a high pitched, yearning plea.

"Why what?"

"Just... why? Why everything? Why ... Why did he leave me? Did he... say anything to you?"

"Sure. Bitchin' about his ex. That's attractive." He shook his head. "No. He didn't say."

"But, you know him better than I do, don't you?"

"I guess. He doesn't really talk a lot, y'know?"

"Yeah, I know. But he's been more open lately, hasn't he?"

"Not really. He's just under a lot of stress, which means he can't hide his feelings as well, but I wouldn't call it being open. He doesn't _want_ to talk."

Judy leaned back until her head touched the rim of the tub, and she stared idly at her hand, held against the light, flexing her fingers this way and that. 'What is going on with him? Will I ever understand his pain?' It felt like she was reaching out for something unknown, amorphous, and beyond her grasp. "I wish I knew how to help him. But I couldn't deal with a problem I didn't know was there. He seemed so... he seemed fine."

"There's signs if you know what to look for. You know what, Judy? I think that if you cared half as much as you say you do, you'd have picked up on his pain."

She jumped up to her feet, horrified, and stared accusingly at Finn's silhouette. "What?! I care" She protested indignantly.

"I know you do. But, it was easier just to ignore the problem than to force him to talk about anything uncomfortable. You're all about helping people when the problems are nice and simple. Good guys, bad guys, the law. It's why you became a cop, so you can feel like a hero and deal with your insecurities. But the moment someone has a more complex problem, deep-rooted trauma and years of suppression, for instance, it's easier just to pretend everything's the way it looks on the surface. He's smiling, so I'll pretend he's happy, even though he told me about something awful and humiliating in his past, even if it was half the story."

"Where the hell do you get off?! Who the hell do you think you are?!" She roared, throwing the curtain aside, tears in her eyes. She stepped into the shower, glowering at Finn and backing him into the wall, where he stood, staring blankly through her as if she wasn't even there. There was a fire in those violet eyes, and they were burning. A heavy weight lay in her heart. Feelings of confusion, betrayal, and rage. "You don't know me. You don't know anything! You take a few anger management classes, learn some pop psychology, and you think you're in any position to judge me?! I would do anything for him! _Anything_! How _dare_ you tell me I don't care about him. He is _everything_ to me. The second I knew about what happened to him, I was there for him, wasn't I?" But Finn's eyes held no such vibrancy. They were glassy, barely focused, and fatigued. Cold.

"Were you?" Finn deadpanned. "I held him. I tended his wounds. And I pushed him when he needed pushing. You were there as much as you could be without feeling too uncomfortable. It's not easy for me, but I do it." 'Just like I'm pushing you right now', he thought.

"I... I can't. I just can't bear to see him hurt like that!"

"You still love him, don't you?" He said, feigning epiphany.

"Of course I do! He was my first real boyfriend! My only boyfriend!" That much at least, he hadn't known. 

"I had no idea. But I'm glad you're being honest about it." He shut off the shower and hopped out of the tub to start drying himself off and start getting clean clothes. How old was she that she'd only had one serious relationship? Did she really not date anyone back in the country? 

"I know I've not been a good enough friend. But... I'll do better. I'll make myself deal with even the uncomfortable parts, and I'll be more confident." She said, following him to the bedroom. Mission accomplished.

Finn pulled on a pair of boxers and started rooting through a drawer for a clean shirt. "I know you will. I was just pushing you, like I said. Tough love, and all that." 

"You were testing me?!" What a jerk!

"Yep." He shrugged, then unceremoniously tossed her the towel, and continued to clothe himself anew. "Dry off, put on some clean clothes, and get your coat. Ready or not, you are going to be there for him."

 

The atmosphere in that cold, grey room was little more than oppressive. Claustrophobic, suffocating, drowning, but devoid of water. Nick's shallow breathing was barely audible over the incessant beeping of his heart monitor. For three days, Ben and the chief had come to visit him and Wolford, twenty minutes evenly divided before they had to go back to work. Twenty minutes spent waiting for them to awaken. Twenty minutes of silently counting their breaths, the seconds, the heartbeats. Today, the little fennec had told them Nick had been awake before, so they stayed longer than they probably should. Longer than they really had time to. Benjie, ever the sweetheart, had promised the brokenhearted fool that they'd wait for him, so that he could go home and shower, so that Nick wouldn't wake up alone. That had been over an hour ago, and the overworked police chief was anxious to get back to it. The ticking of the clock, the beeping of the machines, the wrinkling of Clawhauser's uniform as he wrung his hands and ground his teeth. Every small sound was deafening, and infinitely agitating for the man almost driven to distraction. Soon enough, it came to the point where he could no longer stand it, and, groaning, bones cracking, he got out of his uncomfortable chair. Much to Clawhauser's dismay as, as he made to leave, the cheetah called out after him.

"Oh, Chief! Please, just wait a little longer. After all, we did promise Finny."

Bogo rolled his eyes, hidden under his eyelids to avoid Ben's chagrin. "What you promised your new friend is beside the point. We've already stayed far longer than we should have." His voice and eyes softened, and he took Clawhauser's paw in his... awkward hoof-hand. "Come, we'll try again tomorrow."

Clawhauser's eyes fell. "But, Chief, if we do that, we might never catch him awake."

Bogo's voice came out hard and stony, but not loud. "Then we'll see him once he's better." He released Ben's hand and made once more, for the exit.

"Bertram, no." He said with some forced authority in his voice.

"Excuse me?" Bogo huffed with some mild displeasure at being so addressed by his subordinate, regardless of how close they might be outside of work.

"We promised." From Bogo's death-glare, he realised he might have overstepped the line and began to backpedal; floundering and hiding his heated face. "Well, we're... off the clock, right?"

"Not technically, but under the circumstances, I suppose calling me by name is... acceptable." There was an awkward pause as they were caught somewhere between looking at each other and avoiding such glances.

"You name's Bertram?" Nick piped up from his bed, where he sat, dishevelled, and with a thin trail of drool lining his jaw, but no less cocky for all that.

"How long have you been awake?" Bogo asked, accusative, and glaring.

"About fifteen seconds." Nick yawned, stretching; his muscles and bones popping and clicking back into place. Hospital beds are not comfortable. Seeing him squint in the light, Clawhauser handed him a pair of sunglasses, which Nick gratefully adorned. "So, how long've you guys been together?" Nick asked nonchalantly, making Bogo sputter and twitch.

"We're not together!"

"About three days." Said Clawhauser calmly.

"So, my attempts at matchmaking bore fruit after all." Nick drawled sweetly, making Ben blush and Bogo increasingly irate. His eye twitched, knowing that if their gabbing session was allowed to continue, it would rapidly get out of hand.

"This is not just a social call", he insisted. "We're here to get your statement, and Wolford's if possible."

Nick cocked his eyebrow and smirked (though the mention of Lucious sent his heart into guilty spirals). "Really? They sent the Chief of Police and his boyfriend, just to get a statement or two?" He softened his features with genuine warmth. "Thanks for coming, guys. I really appreciate it."

Benjie, ever the sweetheart, cooed and began to fuss over his friend. "Oh, Nicky!" he sung as he swept Nick into a crushing embrace. "I'll always be with you if you need me. You're my friend." Nick returned the hug, ignoring his protesting ribs, and stifling a groan, smiling to the tune of Ben's platitudes and statements of obvious candour.

Bogo was losing patience, and began to massage his brow. "If we could please get down to business."

"Oh, right-right-right." Ben flapped and, admonishing himself (not too harshly), he returned to his seat; pad and pen suddenly to hand. As Ben released him, Nick let out a sigh of relief, hoping against hope that he was not heard.

"So, Wilde, in your own words, describe what happened on the night of Friday the twenty-eighth of September, going into Saturday twenty-ninth."

"Oh, was that the date? I thought it was a Wednesday for some reason." His smile faltered for a second, it was quickly replaced, but promptly fell again, and stayed fallen. "I don't even know where to begin", he muttered; his voice surcease with sorrow.

"Why not start with why you were there to begin with." Bogo suggested in his trademark monotone. Ben tried to comfort Nick with a hand on the shoulder, but wanting to keep things professional, the Chief glared at him before Nick even noticed.

Somewhat defensively came Nick's retort: "he's my friend. Isn't that reason enough?"

"It could have been, but it wasn't, was it?"

"Did Finn say something?" Nick shot, accusingly. Bogo put up his hands in a sign of surrender, caught off-guard by Nick's ferocity. The fox was usually fairly soft-spoken, in his opinion. But now, his fur bristled, and there was a baleful, venomous fire in his eyes. What was the source of this? What problems are there between those two? Best not to pry, he decided, after all, it was none of his business.

"Nick..." Ben began, tenderly spoken, but cut off before he could even get started.

"And what would he say?" There was a coyness to his voice, a glint in his eye, and Nick knew that Bogo had caught him.

"Shit." He hissed through clenched teeth. A near-silent admission that he was trapped, and wouldn't be able to lie his way out of this one. " _Fine._ " He crowed. "I slept with him. Is that what you want to hear?! Why is that even relevant?!"

"It establishes a series of events. A throughline. That's why it's relevant."

"Fine." Nick said again, bitterly, staring at his hands with the intensity of a dying star.

"You know, Nick, you're not at fault here." Ben was doing all he could to be comforting without breaking the line of professionalism Bogo insisted on for the matter at hand. He desperately wanted to hold his friend, and tell him it would all be okay in the end, but it would have to wait.

"It's okay, Ben." He muttered, forlornly. "You don't have to lie to make me feel better. If he dies, it's because of me. I killed him." Ben scribbled this down hastily, and Bogo arched his brow, demanding an explanation. "Well, she was trying to hit me when he got shot." His voice was just above a whisper, horribly strained, as if the words themselves were physically painful. When next he spoke, it was louder, but more choked, and he held back shameful tears. "If I hadn't been there, if I hadn't been so _stupid_ " He cut himself off and began hitting his own head with the heel of his palm.

"Stop that." Bogo insisted as he and Clawhauser held him still. He didn't even fight. Just trembled, shrank away, smaller and smaller until he seemed to vanish. "Saving you was his choice, and her fault. Did she state her motivation?"

"Yeah." He choked out in a painful sob. He took in a shaking breath to steady himself, and wiped away his hated tears. He cleared his throat, and tried again. "Yeah. She said she could smell him on me. She called me a ... well, she called me a lot of things. I wouldn't normally mind being called a... a faggot, but she said it with so much hatred, y'know? She called me a whore, and some stuff I can't remember; to do with being a fox. She accused me of... _hurting_ him. In that way." He gave them a meaningful look. They understood immediately.

"Are you saying this was a hate crime?"

"Well, I hate the inherent hypocrisy of that kind of thing, but yes. And she'll be put away longer for that. So Wolford will be safe longer." He was muttering at this point, but they heard every word. With greater conviction, he announced "if it would keep him safe, I'd let her do anything to me." Clawhauser and Bogo exchanged a look. This level of self-destructive altruism was nothing short of heartbreaking. "Is there anything else?" The hurt, the rage, it was all evident in his voice, and in his face.

"I believe that's everything." Bogo confirmed.

Nick sighed, and at once, all the tension in his body was dispersed and he relaxed back into his pillows. "Ah, good."

"How's the leg?" Clawhauser asked, finally able to return to his sympathies.

"It's not too bad. I can kinda move it, but I haven't tried walking yet." Ben nodded in understanding.

"You'll be pleased to hear that the Overture has been taken care of." Bogo stated, matter-of-factly.

Nick blinked rapidly in response to this revelation out of the blue. "What about Clarisse and Trixxey? Everyone else there?"

"They're with adult social services now." Nick bit his lip. He hoped they were being cared for properly. "Sorry we can't stay and chat, but there's work to be done." He proclaimed as he made his way out of the room. "Clawhauser!" He called.

"R-right!" He snapped to attention, mouthed an apology to Nick, which Nick waved off with a smile, as though it was immaterial, and he hurried after his superior, leaving Nick all alone.

 

Nick closed his eyes for but a moment, and when he opened them, Finn had returned; bringing a smile to his face. Sat beside him was Judy, and Nick wasn't sure how to feel. He was glad to see his friend, but something about her presence made his chest feel tight with guilt and shame. But why? Without knowing the answer, he pushed those feelings aside for later. Judy was dressed casually, wearing jeans and a "hick shirt", or, y'know, plaid. Her white-gripped knuckles rictus grinning clutch between bone and chair, as she swayed between hither and thither, but neither one nor the other at any given moment. Her eyes were deer-struck wide and life was the headlights.

"You alright, there, carrots? You seem a little... tense." She gave no response, so Finnick stepped into the role of interpreter.

"Nah, she's just stressed out 'cos she thinks she killed you."

Nick burst out laughing. "What?" He chortled, teary-eyed. "I'm alive, aren't I?" His laughter seemed to rouse her from her waking nightmare of spiralling panic and dread.

"Nick? Oh, Nick, I'm so sorry!" She sobbed as she hurled herself across the room at him; swiftly drenching his hospital gown in tears of woe. And I mean whoa. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. I'm sorry I drove you away. If I'd just been there for you... I knew something was wrong, I'm sorry I didn't try to talk to you about it."

He smiled a half-smile crowned with sad eyes, dark and deep, and dreadful. "Don't worry about it, cotton-tail. I... I'm the one who was cold, who didn't let you in, even though I knew I could trust you. I could, but I didn't, so I'm sorry. I really do love you, you know?" He took her chin in his hand and forced a smile onto his face, but it only served to deepen her despair. She knew how to recognise the mask, now. Unable to bear its piercing gaze, but thankful for the effort he made, she buried her face in his chest once more. "Let's just say we're both at fault and move on, okay?" This was final, but unsatisfactory. Regardless, she nodded, and gasped for the relief of being able to breathe again. Really breathe, instead of just drawing in air to survive. He held her closer, then seemed to hesitate, pushing her away a little.

"Nick?"

"Hang on. Let me stand up so I can hug you guys properly." He began to awkwardly shift his body towards the right side of the bed, towards the IV stand. Judy and Finnick rushed to him, trying to stop him, to talk him out of it, confine him to his bed, but he just kept insisting. He swung his legs out over the side of the bed white knuckles of both hands clamped shut around the cold, grey steel. His IV line began to pull uncomfortably within the boundaries of the cannula. The beeping of his heart monitor became louder, more insistent, as his aorta began to palpitate vigorously. With a deep breath, he put all his weight into the makeshift walking stick and tentatively placed his right foot on the cold tiles; sending a shiver through his body as he left the warmth of the hard bedding. Perhaps he was pushing himself too far, but he had to heal. It was taking too long. He had to get out of this awful place, full of death. He had to go home; sooner, rather than later. They gasped as he stood up, leaning severely to the right; careful to put as little weight on his left leg as possible. None if he could help it. The claws of his sinistral foot clicked and scratched against the frigid floor. He sighed, swallowing his anxiety as his breathing and heart rate returned to normal. He faced his friends, aghast though they were, and smiled softly, genuinely as they picked their jaws up off the ground and fit them back into place. He spread his arms to them, and, very carefully, they hugged him; wary of his leg. He was perturbed by them treating his as porcelain. He was not a doll. But he couldn't really blame them. Their worry for him was aggravating, but it was also... nice. It was nice to know they cared, or rather; it was nice to have that knowledge reaffirmed.

 

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?!" Screeched Doctor Clorinthy who had appeared in the door. She cleared her throat, adjusted her clothing (and her composure), then spoke again, calmly, as she stalked over to where Nick and co. stood aghast with guilt and surprise, her fur bristling with all the tempestuous rage that did not reach her face, especially on her tail, which waved angrily in her wake. "Forgive me, Mister Wilde. That was unprofessional. Please, you shouldn't be out of bed." She gestured for him to sit down. "I know it's frustrating, but putting pressure on your hip before it's time can complicate your recovery."

Nick remained standing, though his breathing was beginning to strain. This was harder work than he'd thought. But, stubborn as the dickens, he maintained his awkward stance. "I'm barely putting any weight on it at all. Besides, I just wanted to hug my... friends." Awkward. But... well, there'd be time to discuss that later.

"Listen to the doctor." Finn and Judy said together, exchanging an side-eyed glance at the clumsy hilarity of the situation. Taken aback, Nick complied. He didn't really have the energy to stand any longer, besides, so gingerly sat down, feeling his bones ache as he did so. Clorinthy stood before him, and made notes of his shortened breath, quickened pulse, and so forth. Her lips were pursed into a thin, hard line of disapproval. Nick found himself unable to keep her gaze, but would not swallow his pride either; so there was an odd tension between them as she concluded her examination. 

"Everything seems to be in order, but we'll need to take a few X-rays to be sure. I'm going to acquire you a chair, in the meantime, you are to stay here, and not to move a muscle, understood?" Nick said nothing. His cheeks burning with shame, eyes glistening with pride, he sat, and scowled.

"I'm not using a wheelchair. It's humiliating when I can walk perfectly well." Finn rolled his eyes, Judy bit her lip, and Doctor Clorinthy simply narrowed her eyes slightly; there was a darkness in that glare that drove Nick to gulp like an anxious fool, but he wouldn't back down. With a slight tremor in his voice, he carried on. "If I can stand, I can walk."

"You can do neither." She snapped, looming over him, as one would scold a child. She gathered herself, stood up straight, and visibly forced herself to relax as she ran one hand over her head. "Give it time. If you're patient, you should heal quickly." She gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and met the panic-stricken eyes that could not conceal the truth that prideful face hid with a calming gaze. "You'll be fine. It's my job to make sure you're okay, and I take my work very seriously." She stood back and left the room with surprising grace. Once out of view, she relaxed, sighing with the effort of the facade, and returned to the grumpiness of her decaffeinated state. 'The things I do for my patients'. She mused.

Finn and Judy sat either side of the weary fox, attempting to lend him succour. "Nick," Finn asked "what did you mean by ... friends?" Could it be true? He knew things were a little shaky at the moment, but they'd agreed to keep trying, hadn't they?

"Hm?" He cocked his head. "Oh, that" His eyes lit up with realisation as he snapped his fingers. "I just wasn't sure how to speak about you both collectively." He shrugged. It really wasn't that big a deal. He was still a little tired, having not been awake that long, though it felt like weeks.

"Really? We're okay?" It wasn't like Finn to be so anxious, but... he felt like he was losing Nick. Like he was slipping away from him, soon to be entirely out of reach. He had trouble bringing his earthy brown eyes to meet Nick's forest green ones. But without the earth, that forest would die; and without the trees, the earth is barren. Sensing the awkwardness between them as Nick deflected with nonchalant body language (perhaps he thought that would set Finn at ease), and Finn became more uncharacteristically twitchy, Judy felt a twinge in her gut; compelling her to leave.

She hopped off the bed, and voiced her leave. "I... should go." She floundered. "I wanted to visit Wolford before I left."

"They won't let me see him, they say he's still asleep. I don't think they're letting him have visitors." Judy's ears pricked up at the audible guilt plain within Nick's voice. No, not guilt. Was that... doubt? Fear? It was the barest twinge of emotion, and hard to decipher, but Judy heard it plainly, nonetheless. She couldn't find the words; she didn't know what to say, nor how to convey her thoughts, so she simply squeezed his hand in hers. She smiled at him as best she could (though it did not reach her eyes), then took her leave saying with a hitch in her voice that she would still ask if she could see him. With Judy gone, perhaps they could really hash things out.

"There's something you're not telling me, isn't there?" Finn's baritone resonated in Nick's soul; those deep vibrations filled him with nostalgia, and anguish. The look on Nick's face could not be hidden by the fragments of his mask; so that anguish was mirrored within Finn's own breast. Neither one could look the other in the eye.

"I..." he took a deep breath to steady himself, and when it came out he shuddered. Nick stared at his hands; opening and closing in his lap, doing nothing. Finn's gaze fell upon the same, and he ghosted over the hand of the man he was determined to keep as his lover. Nick flinched at that touch at first, then relaxed his hand into Finn's, and turned it so their palms met. "Why?" The thought was spoken at last. Finn's face was one of confusion, but Nick never saw it, for his eyes with screwed tightly shut. He swallowed the painful lump in his throat. "Why don't you want to marry me?" He choked out, as the first tear fell, staining their mingled fur in the swiftly growing sea that formed. "Why did you forgive me? Why are you being so kind to me? I don't deserve it." He shook his head and felt all the muscles tighten in his body, almost to the point of excruciation. He sniffed. He immediately regretted asking, met by the wall of silence. In reality, Finn was desperately grasping for a response, but Nick didn't know this. He wanted to hide from impending judgement, cling to the truth he now thought was a fantasy: Finn's love. He so desired to flee; to hide, to run away and never face the world again. But he could not. The doctor had bade him sit, and so he sat.

He was surprised by the gentle hand that stroked his back, up and down, up and down. He opened his eyes to the sweetness of rich honey that met his ears when Finnick spoke. He drew the first breath of his life. How long would it be before he died again? Before they were parted again. "It's not because I don't love you. It's the opposite. I love you very deeply, but I've seen what marriage does to people. I just... I don't want to become my father."

"Your father? You've... never said a word about your family." With a concerned brow he looked, at last, into Finn's eyes, and saw that his were not the only ones brimming with tears, though Finnick's were all unshed.

"And I'm not about to. Not yet, anyway. Not here."

"Oh, come on. You know about everything that's ever happened to me."

"I know, babe. I'm sorry, but I'm just not ready to open that box right now. And by the way, you deserve _nothing_ but kindness."

 

Meanwhile, having gone to fetch Nick's wheelchair, and some coffee, and wondering _why_ in God's name, she hadn't just sent a nurse or an orderly, then remembering that she can't be near Mister Wilde without caffeine in her blood, Doctor Clorinthy ran into fellow doctor, and occasional squeeze, Mark Prince; a deer of endearing positivity (and immeasurable patience) by the front desk, between rounds. Standing idle. Loitering. He smiled warmly as his hazel eyes met her cool, grey ones. She made the effort to smile back, creasing up her tired face, before rubbing absently at the rings that stood out plainly against her white mask.

"Hello, Cynthia. Everything okay?"

"Urgh..." She groaned, stretching her arms and cracking her back. "I have the most exasperating patient. He tried standing up with a dislocated femur." She sighed, rubbing her eyes cynically, before waving at the room at large in her aggravation. "Now he needs a whole new set of X-rays."

"Sounds frustrating." He remarked, jovially, with a playful smirk. He knew that she'd see him right, in the end. Cynthia Clorinthy was ... an acquired taste, but she was very serious about her work. A pity she hadn't been as serious about their relationship. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Coffee." Wearily cried, eyes half closed and dark. 

"No problem." He hurried off to the nearby machine as Clorinthy leant against the worktop and yawned. Having overheard them, a slightly overzealous trainee named Rose; an earnest, steadfast, ursine woman who worshipped the ground on which Clorinthy stood; as did most of her students took it upon herself to fetch the wheelchair the good doctor so required. She suspected it was the anxious fox; and if it wasn't him it will have been the crotchety otter on the third floor. So she brought two wheelchairs; one in each of the appropriate sizes. She arrived just as Clorinthy received her coffee.

"Thank you, Bambi." She muttered, gratefully as she took the steaming paper mug, and urgently sipped the scolding elixir. She was used to hot drinks, having no time for them to cool, so barely noticed as the foul-tasting substance slid down her throat, almost making her gag. But she kept a straight face, for her friend.

"Please don't call me that." The deer submitted his plea. For the hundredth time, I might add.

She chortled a little, enjoying the coffee, even if it was awful, and feeling life return to her body. "Well, you are a forest prince, you know." He rolled his eyes, but let it go.

"Um, Doctor Clorinthy?" Whispered Rose, vying for attention. 

"Yes, yes. Good work, Ms. Greene. But we will have to do something about your confidence." She smiled, took the vulpine-sized chair and departed; having finished her coffee in six seconds flat. She had, truth be told, learnt to love the awful stuff, but it was still better taken quickly, and without a second thought. She waved as she sauntered off; in a visibly much better mood already.

 

As they waited for the doctor, Nick sat coiled tight enough to snap, his shoulders hunched up around his neck, as he clasped his hands together and did not move. Finn was pacing the ground in front of him, clearly agitated. The anxiety of each feeding off the anxiety of the other. Finnick cleared his throat to speak; a stark departure from the grumbling and muttering under his breath he'd been doing for the last ten minutes. Nick's response was to blink, but not move from his position, and to maintain eye contact with his fuzzy brown toes. Finnick stopped in his stalking about the room, mid-stride, a little to Nick's right, and turned; facing him with his arms crossed in a way that spoke volumes about the unspoken tension. Patient was taking on a whole new meaning.

"Hey." Nick grunted in response and moved his head marginally. "Are you doin' okay? How's your..." Finnick kept his left arm close to his chest whilst gesturing at Nick's whole body with his right "everything?"

Nick hummed for a moment or two, deep in thought, only dimly aware of his lover's question. He was silent for a while, before the mist in his head cleared enough for him to realise he was meant to say something. "Uhh... fine. Fine, I guess. My ribs kinda ache, but not as much as I thought they would. They feel more bruised than broken."

"Weird." Finn eyed the IV bag suspiciously. "Do you think they gave you anything?"

Nick shrugged, then froze, remembering he wasn't supposed to move. "I know they can't give me opioids."

"Hmm..." Finn narrowed his gaze, and focused in on the clear solution, as if searching for something (if it was there, he couldn't possibly see it, as it would've dissolved completely by now, but still).

It was in this moment that Doctor Clorinthy arrived, wheelchair in tow. "Alright, Mister Wilde, let's get you into this chair so we can have a look at that hip, hmm?" Thus she announced her presence with a loud, clear voice. Someone's mood had clearly improved.

"Can I at least try to get into the chair by myself?" Nick pleaded as the doctor wheeled the chair around to where he was sat. Exactly where she'd left him 'so, he can do as he's told', she thought to herself.

"No." She said in a firm, even voice.

"But-" he began.

"No." She said very firmly, and with finality.

"Okay." He breathed, in a small, meek voice. His cheeks burning, he felt like a small child caught with his hand in a cookie jar. Sensing this, Finn gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. Clorinthy directed Nurse O'Hara to pick him up by the armpits, as she herself took him by the knees; ensuring that his hip stayed in position. They sat him down, and he began to relax into the uncomfortable material. He set his hands on the wheels' cool, steel rims and was about to push forwards when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Your stamina is still too low for that." She reminded him, her voice tickling his ear from the proximity of it. "Your energy is going towards healing right now, but you'll be up and about in no time." Nick said nothing, but gave a half nod. He felt so stupid. Everything he tried to do just made things worse. He'd be here forever, wouldn't he? Wordlessly, Clorinthy shut off the flow of the IV and removed it from his cannula, which she left in place. She took control of the chair and wheeled him towards radiography, with Finnick rushing to stay abreast of the wheelchair, against the pace of the doctor's long strides.

For about a minute they travelled in relative silence (the wheels squeaked slightly), but Nick felt the need to ask, for clarity's sake. "So, my ribs don't hurt as much as I would've thought..."

"Hm?" She seemed a little distracted. "Oh, there was Paracetamol in your IV. The strongest thing we could give you, I'm afraid."

"Because even I can't get addicted to Paracetamol." Nick stated, simply, with a sombre tone. It wasn't a question.

Surprisingly, she met him with sympathy. "In all my years as a doctor, I've never known anyone get addicted to Paracetamol. And I've known some very strange cases." She sighed. "Don't worry. Addiction is... well, it's not an easy fix, I'm afraid. But you seem like the type to beat it." This was a bald-faced lie. She had no idea whether or not Nick could beat his addictions long-term, and held a less than favourable opinion of him. But this was what he needed to hear. The rest of their journey was in silence, but much more comfortable for having been broken. They arrived in radiology, passed a sort of antechamber replete with monitors and technical equipment as well as a few chairs and a screen by which to monitor the X-Ray room proper. As soon as Nick was wheeled past the second door, into this large, mostly empty, extremely dark room, his heart began to race, his palms to sweat, and a hard, heavy lump formed in his throat. He was so anxious, it almost brought him to tears. His state only got worse as he was lifted, and eased onto something resembling an examination table of a beige material that was spongy, and not unlike leather, but smelt strongly of chemical detergents. His breathing became an agony, as he choked on every gasp of air. His eyes began to sting. His head began to ache from holding back tears. Finn squeezed his hand in solidarity, but this only made him feel worse. The doctor silently set to work, making sure the machine was calibrated properly, and placed an uncomfortably heavy material over his nethers, which Nick assumed to be lined with lead. Her silence did nothing to ease his heart. He was dimly aware that Finnick was whispering into his ear, trying to comfort him, but his panic-stricken mind couldn't take in the words.

"W-wait..." He choked.

Finn patted him on the shoulder. "We'll be just in the next room, don't worry." 

"Please..." He urged as they walked away. "I'm scared." He tried to call after them, but he could barely whisper, his throat felt so constricted. They did not hear his pleas, and left him to his imagined fate. Alone on the bench, he trembled, tossing his head about, looking every which way, eyes restless.

"Okay, Mister Wilde, I need you to stay still now, thank you." Came the collected voice of Clorinthy through the intercom. Nick clutched his eyes shut and held his breath for what felt like hours. Counting backwards, doing all he could to stay still and calm.

In the observation room, Finn clutched his hands tightly; too in tune with his partner's stresses for his own good, when a thought occurred to him. "Say, Doc? How much is this gonna cost?"

"Hmm?" She was distracted by the monitors, with her back to him. "Oh, don't worry about it."

"What?" He span her around by the shoulder to face him. She was not amused. "But his insurance-"

"Is irrelevant. The director has kindly offered to be his benefactor. Now, please, let me get back to it, this is taking longer than it needs to."

She turned back to her work, leaving Finn perplexed, to say the least. "But why-"

Clorinthy tutted; annoyed at the interruptions. "Who knows. Your boyfriend has been in the news a lot over the past two years. A lot of foxes..." She paused, concentrating. "...see him as something of a role model. Perhaps the director is one of them, or perhaps he's doing this as a favour to those who do. He's a kind man. Very generous." She sighed satisfactorily, her work complete. She pressed the button for the intercom and spoke thus: "Okay, Nick. We're all done, and we're going to come and get you now." 

As the intercom clicked off, Nick urged them "Please hurry", but of course, this could not be heard. Regardless, they entered the room with expedience. Once back in the chair, Nick pulled Finn into such a desperate hug that the fennec was almost brought off his feet. Nick whimpered, and refused to let go for some time, but eventually, he calmed down enough that the doctor could speak to him again.

"The results are looking good. Would you like to see them?" Nick nodded, and she wheeled him through to the monitor. As she elucidated, she directed their eyes to different parts of the screen by finger. "The hip, as you see here, is correctly located, and any tissue damage surrounding it is too minor to be seen. I would recommend you wait another few days, but after that, I'll assign you a physiotherapist." This news brought the barest flicker of a smile to Nick's features. He was still, naturally, apprehensive, but this sounded like good news. Like 'I might not be stuck here for the next three months' good. They returned to Nick's room with no words, but an air of relative contentedness. Well, more contented than they were before, at any rate. Out of consideration for Nick's mental state, Clorinthy allowed Finn to spend ten minutes in bed with Nick, to bring him down to a nice calm, so he could rest. By this point, Nick reeked of anxiety and dread, very noticeably, but Finn ignored it and nuzzled with him for a while before Nick drifted off, and he went back to his chair to doodle.

 

As all this was going on, Judy was busy trying to access Wolford's room. It wasn't enough to simply show her badge and gain access to the room, she also had to prove she was no threat to him. The guard was... kind of a dick, honestly, but she wore him down eventually. Twenty minutes and a pack of powdered donuts later, she was finally allowed into the room. Upon passing the threshold, she almost wished she hadn't. Her eyes were transfixed by her friend and colleague; hidden under a mass of bandages, tubes, and wires. Every bare inch of fur was matted with blood. The only sounds in the room were the beeping and whirring of his machines, and the wheezing of each breath forced into his broken body by a tube down his throat and the pumping of a concertina bag in a glass cylinder. Despite the coma, his cheeks glistened with tears that should've been impossible to shed. This sight robbed Judy of her strength and she stumbled towards the nearest chair. It pained her beyond words, to see him like this: blown to bits and stitched back together. Her eyes brimmed with tears, and slowly they began to roll down her cheeks. Though she did not weep, she did not make a sound, the tears fell from unblinking, purple eyes as she sat and simply stared until she felt the pain of staying was greater than the pain of leaving. As soon as that line was crossed, she fled.

 

Over the first few days of Nick being awake, they rapidly came to realise that any solid food given to him would be almost impossible to keep down. So they switched him to soup, and other liquids, which he could keep down if there wasn't too much. This was largely attributed to stress. Whatever the case, he was losing weight, and his recovery was being negatively impacted by it. To remedy this, they gave him more frequent, smaller meals, which seemed to work well enough. By day five, he had been assigned a physiotherapist; an overzealous, golden brown vixen named Cara. Initially, her excessive chirpiness grated on Nick's every nerve, but after that initial friction, they got along fairly well. After she'd calmed down, and Nick had warmed up. Each day, he got a little stronger, and regained a little more movement in his leg. Each day, he got more accustomed to being there, and his anxiety began to wane. Each day, Judy visited Wolford, in that living tomb, and each day she stayed a little longer before the sensation of drowning became too much to bear. She took to reading to him, from newspapers, from case notes, from her favourite novels. She asked the Fangmeyers (one wolf and one tiger, no relation), and read to him from the books they recommended. Her focus was here, with him and Nick, so her work declined, and the investigation stagnated. Not that it had been progressing very quickly to begin with. By the end of the second week, Finnick had gone from practically living there, to visiting every chance he got; pouring more and more of his energy into his painting: complex, abstract pieces describing vague and conflicting emotions, but somehow they never came out how he wanted. By the sixteenth day, Nick had improved his stamina enough to roll the wheelchair on his own, and was even able to take a couple of steps at a time, between the long, steel bars of the physio room. Though he was relying on them more than he would like.

"Come on, Nick. Just a few steps more." Cara urged him on from the sidelines. It did nothing but increase his frustration. His arms and chest were pained, to say nothing of his hip. He was panting, sweat dripping from his brow. His left foot only tentatively grasping the cold, tiled floor as he almost dragged himself across the room, springing forth with his good leg. He knew he wasn't doing it right, but it was still too painful. He knew that if he pushed himself too hard, he'd fall backwards, but if he didn't push himself enough, he'd never advance. This was not correct, of course. Frankly, if he's hurting, he should stop; and the physicians would've told him so if the prideful, stubborn fool had let on. He had learnt to hide how much he was struggling. "Come on", she urged again.

Finn came in, with coffee for himself and Cara, who he'd formed a temporary friendship with. Did you know she was writing a novel? "How's he doin'?" 

" _He_ is doing just fine, thank you!" Nick snapped, irritated, slightly jealous (for no reason, and without any right to be).

"He's been stood there for ten minutes." Cara informed him.

"Shut up! Just... just gimme a minute." He panted, exhausted. 'Two weeks of this crap. I've been in this damn hospital for a month, and I haven't gotten anywhere!' He stared at his legs, one trembling under too much weight, one dangling, useless. 'Stupid idiot. Just move your damn foot.' He berated himself, eyes watering a little.

Finn handed Cara her coffee, and took a sip of his own before passing that to her too. He walked around to Nick's right side, where he stood, clearly physically exhausted. "Y'know..." He raised his hands to the nearest of Nick's, the bars being slightly higher than Finn's head. "If you're too tired, we can just try again later."

"I'm fine", he insisted. "See?" He brought his arms back in line with his legs, and raised himself up to his full height of four feet (ears included). He took a big, deep breath, and let it go, steadying himself. He evened out his weight, standing with perfect posture. With great concentration, he lifted his left leg, ignoring the pain as he raised his knee, brought it forward, extended down to the ground, grimacing as he put his weight in the left leg to take the right step. The next step was faster, and easier because the pain didn't last as long, but on the third step, his foot slipped, buckling under him, and down he went, narrowly missing his head on the bar to his left as he crumpled to the ground. Finn and Cara rushed to his side in an instant, but he batted them away, incensed, and lamely scrambled towards his chair, but he didn't get very far before Cara and Finn took an elbow each and helped him to his feet. It was as they helped him, despondent and defeated, back to his chair that Judy burst into the room.

"He's alive! He's awake! He's alive!" She hollered; tears of joy in her eyes. "It's Wolford!" She shuddered, chest heaving with her enthusiastic exertion, and from the manic rush that had delivered her there. Nick and Finn span around so fast, he almost fell out of the chair he'd just sat down in. Finn knew it was good news, but he couldn't help but feel the smallest twinge of anger as Nick's face creased into an ecstatic grin, and his sombre green eyes lit up to a fiery glow. The knuckles of Finn's right hand twitched into a fist for a split second before relaxing again, and he hid the breath he let out through his nose.

He sensed Nick's apprehensive glee and asked "You okay to wheel there? You took a pretty bad spill."

Nick rubbed his slightly bruised side, his ribs having mostly healed by this point and smirked a little, with sparks in his vivid eyes. "Nah, I'm fine. Hop on." He added, patting the right hand side of his lap in invitation. Finn looked at him and thought about it. He knew he was... less than heavy (dammit), but would that really be wise? "C'mon. I won't break." Seeing that broad, genuine smile, that confidence, Finnick knew he was on the mend. He looked to Cara, the only medical professional in the room, as if seeking permission. She merely shrugged, smiling like she always did. Well, that was that. Nick patted his lap again, a little more insistently, still smiling, though his fatigue was starting to come through again. Finn was sure to sit down very gently, and also careful to neither squash his bits, nor hurt his knee. And they were off! Very, very slowly. Well, not that slowly. A steady pace, like walking. But it still seemed urgent. Just slow. Judy set her pace to match theirs, just slightly ahead, as she led them. The pace they set caused nothing but anxiety in the jittery hare who longed only to bound ahead. So she gnawed her lip and rubbed her hands together as bristling sensations of dread travelled along her spine. The short trip to Wolford's room took at least ten minutes. 

The room was very still, but for Wolford's ragged breaths and the occasional beeping of his heart monitor, and the other damnable machines that held him to this earthly realm. As quickly as Nick's face had risen upon hearing Lucie was alive, it fell even faster upon seeing him in this state. He knew he was in a bad way, of course. You don't spend thirty days in a coma without being at death's door. But somehow, he had never thought it would be this bad. His grey-white fur was listless and without shine. His ice blue eyes were dim and rheumy, requiring great concentration just to open. In Nick's throat formed a terrible lump. His eyes burnt; tears building up but never falling, as all the guilt that he'd spent the last month letting go came flooding back in an instant. The guilt of having let this happen, _made_ this happen. The guilt of being largely unscathed, as inaccurate as that statement was. He trembled where he sat, and began to inch closer. And with every inch, there was more heartache. It was unbearable, but he had to move closer. He had to see him, with his own eyes, really take it in. Finnick sensed Nick's burden, evident in his tortured breaths. He held Nick's arm closer to him, attempting to soothe the taller fox, but feeling no response, such was Nick's fixation on the timber wolf, he hopped down, dejected. 

Once Nick was right by the bedside, close enough that Wolford's weary gaze could land on him, the fragile, shattered form pulled in a hoarse, scratchy breath and breathed out two words. "Hey,... Slick..." It was clear that even these two short words were an agony for him. 

"I'm here." Nick choked out, scarcely audible. He repeated himself, desperate to be heard. He longed to squeeze his hand, to confirm that he was really there, but he couldn't bring himself to hurt his friend so selfishly. Lucious raised one shaky, patchwork arm with tremendous difficulty; taking great pains to place it on the face of the man he loved, even knowing as he did that that love was unrequited, perhaps even unearned. Nick shed tears, smiling, weeping, trembling, and gasping at every breath as he placed his hand on top of Wolford's and held it closer to him, taking in the warmth of it. Proof that his friend was still alive. Seeing this token of affection sent daggers of jealousy and waves of nausea over Finn, who found himself looking away, to an empty corner of the room, suppressing that selfsame jealous rage, and counting back from ten. Judy stepped forwards, placing a hand on Finn's shoulder. Seeing that this was enough to calm him, she felt some strange feeling of pride, and satisfaction. A warmth blossomed in her chest, and she fell still, as had the rest of the room for one reason or another. This tranquillity was rent asunder by the untimely buzzing of Detective Hopps' silenced phone. She dashed out of the room and away to field the call from Chief Bogo, who, if you must know, was outraged, though sympathetic, that she had spent all of her accumulated sick days (and holidays too, for that matter), tending to Wolford's bedside and allowing an infinitely important case to grow cold. Back in Wolford's room, however, that stillness had returned. Nick had curled his tail around to his front for comfort, like a kit, blubbering uncontrollably as Lucie caught his breath between sentences. Finn tried to be supportive, petting Nick's right knee softly, but was largely ignored. Through sheer, indomitable will, he forced himself to be patient, for Nick's sake.

"I'm so sorry..." Nick sobbed, weeping uncontrollably, shivering as if frozen to the bone, and clutching that hand ever closer; a lifeline, tethering him to the world: sunlight's warmth thawing the sudden frost.

It took a few moments before Wolford was ready to speak again, rubbing Nick's cheek as well as he was able. Lucious creased his right cheek slightly, in a crude facsimile of a smile. The feelings of light and warmth blooming in his heart were genuine, but this small twitch was all he could muster. "Why?..." He croaked. 

"I..." Nick gulped in a wave of air, struggling to speak. "I killed you!" He cried out.

"I'm ... alive,... silly... fox."

"B-but-"

"Shh..." He paused, to catch his breath, panting softly; desperate for air, but only able to draw in shallow breaths. "You... saved me. ... You... set me... free." 

'What good is freedom if you're dead?!' Nick thought, but said nothing. 'I can't... I'm poison. Everyone who touches me just suffers for it. And he calls that suffering freedom? He just lost one prison for another.'

"I'm so sorry, Wolford." He wept. "I can't do this." Almost blinded by his tears, he pushed himself away from the bed and fled the room. For Wolford, it was like getting shot all over again. Worse than that. His heart belonged to Nick now, and with him gone, so was his very core. Would he ever get it back? He didn't know. He didn't care. He didn't _want_ another heart.

Finnick hopped up onto the bed and walked towards the eyes consumed with fatigue and grief. "Hey." He said calmly, but brimming with a kind of rage he'd never known before. A cold, icy blade; not a burning fire. That blade was in his eyes, and he wielded them to hold Wolford in place, and pierce his soul. "I wanted to thank you, for saving _my boyfriend_." Wolford looked like he was about to speak, but Finnick fixed him in place with a finger over his lips, and a brief glimpse of the inferno behind his chocolatey eyes. "And to tell you, he will _never_ love you the way _I_ love him." That fierce intensity, that possessive tone. Wolford gulped beside himself, though it felt like sandpaper on his tonsils. Finn hopped off the bed and began to walk away. "Thanks again, really" He said over his shoulder. "But don't make a habit of it. I'd hate to see you back here, or in the morgue." And with that, he left. The door swung to, and Wolford was left utterly, wholly, irrevocably alone.

 

Finnick found Nick just outside Wolford's room, staring through the window at the small garden below. The sun reflecting in his forest green eyes made them seemed to glow. His arms were wrapped around his shoulders, hugging his tail again. Finn hopped up onto the low bench by his side, and looked out the window with him. The shape of the building had a hollow square, occupied with some short paths, a bench or two, some flower beds, and a single, large tree. It was this tree that held Nick's gaze, it seemed. But looking more closely, perhaps he wasn't really looking at anything. For a minute or two, they just stayed by that window, enjoying the sunlight that cast long shadows. Finn watched the passing of people through the windows of the other three sides of the square garden, or the gentle swaying of the tree in the wind. The leaves were golden in that early November, with some still clinging to the green of summer, while others were red, or had withered away to brown. As they watched, some had taken to dancing in the breeze. Finn felt they were ballerinas, dancing eternally in an arrangement they could only briefly glimpse. Nick saw only leaves, plummeting, dying, and turning to a thick, brown pulp. Maybe that was him, a thick, leafy pulp; clogging up the drains of other people's lives. It didn't matter how many people loved the autumn, it all came to the same thing. A gross, soggy, clumpy mess. Cold winds. And the death of the sun when winter finally came. But he didn't have a spring, a rebirth. He didn't deserve one. He didn't deserve anything.

"Hey..." Nick broached, killing the silence. His voice was utterly defeated, weary. Finn smiled back at him, but even that was muted. Grey. Finn thought he was just tired, he certainly looked it; that he'd just ask if they could go back to the room and rest. He was wrong. Alas, this would take a far worse turn. "I..." Nick paused, uncertain of his words, perhaps. Or maybe he knew the words and they were difficult to say. He looked worried, pained. Finn brought his hand to Nick's shoulder and squeezed, smiling a warm, gentle smile. A loving smile. And just like that, Nick started crying, for what felt like the millionth time today. Finn told him it would all be okay, they hugged, they kissed, and they went back to the room. In truth, this was what Nick would have loved nothing better than to happen, but alas... those tears were never shed. Nick suppressed them, suppressed all his true emotions. It made him feel sick, but he knew this was the right thing to do. For both their sake. "I... um..." He shuddered. This was going to be harder than he'd thought.

"What is it, babe?" Finn asked, still smiling, moving his hand to cup Nick's face.

"I think we should break up!" Nick exclaimed, saying the words so fast they were barely intelligible, for it was the only way he could say them at all. A single tear escaped his grasp, and slid down his face. Upon hearing those awful words, Finn pulled his hand away as if burnt.

"What? Why?" Finn keened. "Why now?" Nick broke his gaze and turned away, saying nothing. "Is it... is it him?" Finn asked, terrified of the answer. Nick shook his head, and Finn sighed in relief. At least there was that. But why? Why was this happening? "You..." He shook his head, his whole body trembled, hot, angry tears spilled out of his eyes and stained his tawny fur. "You liar!" He roared. "You said we'd keep trying! I forgave you, and you said you didn't deserve it, but you took it anyway!" He was screaming himself hoarse as this went on. Already a dull itch was forming in his throat. But he ignored it. "Were those words just... just..."

Nick cast his gaze further downwards. "I'm sorry." He certainly sounded like he meant it.

"Stop fucking apologising! You coward! Look me in the eye when you break my heart! Bastard!" Finn was exasperated; waving his arms frantically, and doing everything he could not to punch the wall so hard the world crumbled to dust.

"Finn..." Nick's eyes were closed. He couldn't even do this much for the man he loved. Couldn't even set him free. Some boyfriend.

"No. No!" Finn argued. "I refuse to accept this." He moved to stand in front of Nick, to confront him properly, but Nick turned away again, refusing contact. "At least tell me why." It was a fair request.

Nick drew in breath, calmed himself, and mustered the energy to tell the truth without breaking. He owed him that much at the very least. It was far more painful than simply lying. "I..." Where to begin? "Fuck... I'm... poison."

Finnick blinked. Even now, the pain in those words was enough. "What? Babe, no you're not." He soothed. "Why d'ya think you are?"

A chord in Nick's heart struck out in protest, but he ignored it. "It's true. Everything I touch turns to shit."

"Babe..." Finn reached for Nick's hand, but he snatched it away, making Finn fly into a rage. "Fine!" He spat, making Nick flinch. "It's clear you've made your mind up. That nothing I say will change it. So fine!" He threw his arms up into the air, exasperated. "If you loved me, you'd fight. You wouldn't just quit."

"I do love you." Nick insisted, finally turning to face him. 

"Then... why?" Finn was getting a terrible headache, simply unable to understand.

"It's... better this way." Nick said, voice barely above a whisper. "Trust me. You're better off without me."

Finn ground his teeth. "Fine. But you'll come back to me. You always do."

Nick knew it, but started wheeling back to his room. "Go home, Finn." His voice was ice.

Finn was too tired to fight anymore. "I'm here if you need me."

"I won't." And so, it was over. Just like that. Somehow, this one felt... final. Finn fell to his knees, swallowing the lump in his throat, and hugging his belly, screwing his face shut against the pain. He started punching the ground with both hands until they heart as much as his soul. He stopped when he felt them about to break, remembering where he was, and wanting to go home. He opened his eyes, and everything was swirling around, cloudy and strange. Otherworldly. The tears began to fall, striking the ground beneath him, granting brief moments of clarity in a world that no longer made sense, before another one fell into place, and he was blinded again.

"Hey?" Came a familiar voice. A friendly, gentle, feminine voice. Judy's voice. "Finn?" She asked, hand on his shoulder. Saying nothing, he pulled her close to him and just let it all out. She didn't say anything either. She didn't need to. She just held him there, on a freezing floor, in the middle of a hospital, until they were asked to move, and Finn just ran home. But where was home, now? Without Nick, would anywhere ever feel like home?


	17. Deluge

Finnick had always loved the rain. When his parents had broken him, the rain had made him feel whole. When he'd left home at nine years old, the rain had made him feel safe. When he had been too weak to control his anger, the rain had made him feel strong. And when the man who was his living heart left him so alone in this vast, empty world, the rain was comforting. The cleansing power of water, washing away his sin. There he lay, on the roof; finding warmth in the torrential downpour of freezing bullets. Finding peace in the violent shouting of thunder. Finding silence in the howling winds. He was spreadeagled, soaked to the skin; rainwater filling up the wrinkles of his black and orange bowling shirt and tan khakis in little troughs. He stared at the blue-grey, nebulous mass that swirled above him. His every shuddering breath was caught, frozen in the air above his mouth; where it hung as mist. Was he crying, or was it just the comforting hand of angels' tears on his cheeks? The dark, sleepy smell of rain filled the space around him. He longed to fly up, and swim through those clouds. To drown in them. Wearily, he opened his mouth, absentmindedly. He barely noticed as it filled with water. He flexed his hands, dreamily, but could not quite make himself move. The pitter-patter of those dancers, suicidally dive-bombing the world at large in their urgent plea of escape, gained a harder timbre, and a higher pitch. They bounced off the umbrella of the approaching hare who stood over his head; a guardian, a shield of unwelcome well-intention, blocking his view.

"Finn, are you okay?" Her voice was gentle, caring, and the quality of it suggested she'd been crying again. The fennec gave no response, tracing the paths of raindrops seen through the fabric of the little shadow as they crawled to the edges, pooled around the spikes at the tips of the supports, dripped off, and broke against the roof, splashed into the puddles, or even landed on his nose. He blinked once, slowly. "Please, Finn. I'm worried about you. Come inside before you catch a cold." Finn glanced at her. What little makeup she was wearing had run down her face in purple-black streaks, clotting in her fur. She was wearing a loose, grey dress over jeans. It was not a well put together ensemble. 

Finn was trying to keep it together, but his voice came out scratchy and thin. "I can't see. Please... move." He said sombrely. Judy knelt in the pool of water and silt that had formed around him, and took Finn's head onto her lap. He was strangely heavy, and had lost his vitality to the extent that she had to drag him just to get him to move at all. Honouring his request, she moved the umbrella to rest on her shoulder, so that it would only protect her from the inclement weather. She gently stroked his forehead, but he hardly noticed, if at all. His rich, earthy brown eyes were filled up once more. To distinguish between the rain and tears was impossible at this point: it stung either way. For several minutes, they simply sat there, silently. Finnick seemed strangely peaceful; the rain was running through him, cleaning away all his pain, all his grief and sadness, until everything was washed away. Leaving him hollow, frozen, and brittle. A porcelain doll that could shatter if you so much as looked at it the wrong way. Judy was far more restless. As the ceaseless downpour drummed against her umbrella, she sat waiting. Waiting for the moment when they would move. Time was of the essence, as Finnick well knew. The reverberating susurrations of every single drop raised her anxiety as they echoed through the base of her skull; fuelling her impatience. She bit her lip, suppressing the tremor in her right leg that demanded she move. She watched the half-frozen, half-drowned _corpse_ in front of her draw slow, steady, sad breaths; lifeless breaths; empty breaths. It wore on her every nerve. She was sorry for him, and she understood the pain it caused when that enigmatic, beautiful, wonderful, awful man just up and leaves, but eventually, it grew too much. She'd had enough. It was simply too trying to sit here and do nothing. Something inside her snapped and she leapt to her feet.

"Come on, Finn. It's time to get you out of the rain." She announced suddenly, though Finnick simply ignored her. She held the umbrella between her neck and shoulder and hooked her arms under Finn's. Walking backwards, she dragged him across the rooftop and towards the stairwell. He was far heavier than she expected. He hung limp from her grasp and refused to help them move. He didn't even seem to notice until they were inside, and his beloved rain was gone. 

"Hey... hey! Don't take me outta the rain! Leave me alone!" He screamed, even as Judy kicked away the metal pole she'd used to prop open the door. He began to struggle, but she restrained him, fearing that he'd fall down the stairs. She had half a mind to let him go. The water that had come in while the door was open had flooded the bottom of the flight, the remainder slippery, and their feet swimming even at the landing.

"Just stop it!" She snapped, and Finn's fur bristled. "Cheese and crackers, Finn! Life still goes on." She spun him around; careful that neither of them would slip as she did so. She made him meet the intensity of her violet eyes with his; held his face so he would look at her, really look at her. She softened her tone, and said it again. "Life still goes on." It felt like his heart was being torn in half. He knew that he had to be brave, that he had to be strong. He knew that he had to at least try to move on, but how could he just let Nick go? He was part of him. Had been for years. It felt like a betrayal. He couldn't breathe. His chest tightened until he could no longer feel his heart beating. He looked for that faint sound, but it was just not there. His heart was simply gone. He didn't know if he'd ever get it back. His head was fit to bursting with the well of tears that he simply didn't want to shed. Sensing this, Judy held him close, stroking the back of his head. He was comforted and his face was hidden, solving both problems. "You're not alone" she whispered in his ears over and over as she held the trembling, diminutive fox. At length, the shaking began to subside, but before it could fully abate, he began to push away halfheartedly.

He turned away and sniffed as he wiped his face on his arm. "Sorry." He choked.

"There's no need to be sorry, Finn." Judy said as she placed a hand on his shoulder and tried to face him. He turned away again, so that she was behind him, and wrapped her arms around his chest.

"C-can you not?" True, it had been comforting when she held him, but now he felt... awkward, and overly concerned with his personal space. She let go and took a step back, embarrassed by her faux pas. She was about to apologise, but Finn cut her off. "So, you're back to 'cheese and crackers', huh?" He teased. She gave a lopsided grin and blew right past his comment with a hand wave.

"C'mon" Judy took his hand. "Let's go downstairs." Though still largely numb, Finnick was thankful for that moment of mirth, and vaguely stumbled after her. They sloshed down the stairs between the roof and the building proper. It was dark on the stairway, and Finnick was weary, so he closed his eyes; allowing Judy's movements to dictate his own. They stopped by the door, which Judy set ajar and peered around, hoping not to see their landlady; a middle-aged cougar who loved to throw her weight about. Thankfully, Ms. Nesbitt was nowhere to be seen. They seriously couldn't afford to pay for water damages because Finn wanted to wallow on the roof for two hours. But Judy couldn't blame him, with everything that had happened. Seeing the way was clear, they scurried across the top floor landing, down two flights of stairs and through the door to the apartment. Finn almost collapsed with fatigue at the sight of the boxes filling up their home. He groaned loudly, having nearly forgotten about the impending move. "I know it's a pain, but it needs dealing with. We leave in two days." Judy reminded him.

"I know." Finn said glumly. 

"Have you told Nick yet?" She asked gently, her voice barely murmuring his name with the delicate nature of things. Finnick avoided her gaze and became intimately fascinated with the key bowl on the counter. "You need to tell him soon. His name's on the lease. Or, well, one of us should."

"I said I'll do it, and I'll do it." Finn said with finality. Judy smiled softly and placed her hands on his subtly shivering shoulders, then frowned slightly as she noticed the water dripping off him, into a pool at their feet.

"First thing's first. You need to take a hot shower and warm up a bit." They both did, but Finn was wetter and colder, she reasoned, so he should go first.

"Maybe you should..." He started, uncertainly. "Uh, you ... d'ya wanna join me?" He asked, suddenly bashful, as his cheeks became the only warm part of his body.

"I thought you weren't interested." Judy stated sadly, with a slight hint of melancholy hope.

"I... don't know." He shook his head decisively. "Forget it. I'm bein' stupid. I just... I keep going back and forth between wanting to isolate myself and hating to be alone." As they spoke, he began to make his way to the bathroom, navigating the stacks of boxes that had formed a simple maze. He paused at the door before continuing. "I don't even get why you like me. I'm nothin' like him."

Judy shrugged and gave a warm, simple, kind hearted smile that lit up the room. "Exactly. You're polar opposites. Where he's very reserved, you're passionate and irrepressible. Like fire and water."

"No wonder we keep hurtin' each other" Finn realised and slipped through the door without another word. Well, what now? Should she follow him? Leave him alone with his thoughts? Neither path was ideal. Neither path was wholly without pain. In the end, she opted for the former, and braced herself for the knives she would step upon in her crusade to end unhappiness. She pushed through the door as Finn was still struggling to peel the soaking wet shirt off his body. There was such sorrow in his eyes that for a moment, she was afraid to get too close. She closed the gap, however, and helped him out of his clothes.

"Judy?" He inquired, the vague question hanging in the air between them.

"We might as well save on time. And water, even if we have already defaulted on the rent. Besides, it's not like we haven't already seen each other naked." She remarked as she disrobed herself too. She turned on the shower head, and before long, the steam that filled the room was sufficient to hide their shame. Once under the spray, they had to share very limited space, but they had grown close enough not to mind. Finn breathed in through his nose and craned his head back; trading one kind of rain for another. He sighed and closed his eyes as the tension began to roll off him, and evaporate, as did the water. He felt hands on his body, filled with a soft shampoo that was gently massaged into his fur. For a moment, he tricked himself into thinking it was Nick, and a single tear escaped before he got a hold of himself and opened his eyes to see Judy, still smiling, still kind, still helping her friend any way she could. His heart grew simultaneously light and heavy. He took some of the shampoo for himself and returned the favour. Soon, they were caressing each other in ways that went beyond simple hygiene, or simple comfort. They moved closer. Their breath mingled. Their hearts touched. The foam melted away as their hands stilled, and they were made clean. Hesitantly, they began to kiss. Neither was sure who moved first. Their lips melded, their tongues met. A kiss within a kiss. As unexpectedly as it began, it ended. A terrible confusion swept over Finnick and he soon felt that he was drowning. He pushed himself away from her and curled up at the far end of the tub, back facing Judy, his ears pulled down to cover his face.

"I can't. I can't. I can't." He kept repeating the phrase over and over as he wept, hugging his knees tight to his chest.

"It's okay, Finn" Judy began, reaching out for Finn's back. 

With the first whisper of contact, he whirled around and barked "Don't touch me, Judy!" Seeing the shocked, hurt expression on her face, he quickly apologised, and excused himself. He grabbed a towel and headed for the room that had until recently been his and Nick's, and before that, Nick's and Judy's. It had been over a month since the sly talker had been in the room, but still, it smelled like him. He grabbed some clothes then fled into Judy's room. The guest room. It smelt like her. The apartment smelt like both of them. It was inescapable. Was he just slipping into someone else's life? What was happening? What was he doing? He had to get out. He had to get out. He dried as quickly as he could, and pulled on his own clothes, which was strangely comforting in and of itself. Familiar. Though they were clean out of the wardrobe, and so smelt of nothing, there was still an air about them that was uniquely Finnick. He breathed deeply and began to relax. His heart rate began to even out and that nauseating feeling of panic and uncertainty began to wane. Once he could no longer hear his blood pumping through his ears, he fell to the ground where he stood, and though his eyes were open, he saw nothing.

"Hey." Judy announced her presence; clad in one long towel, with another wrapped around her ears. Finnick snapped out of his trance like state and regarded her openly, with no emotion being felt but a mild irritation that was akin to his default setting. Not just with Judy, but with everyone. Even Nick, he was sorry to say. "Listen." She began. "I'm sorry I pushed you like that."

"'S okay, Jude. I'm sorry for gettin' caught up in it. Wasn't fair to you." He got up, thoroughly exhausted, and realised how late it had gotten. "Shit. I'm runnin' late. We can talk about this when I get back, and I promise I'll finish packing."

"Don't worry about it. I'll deal with the packing, you just go... have a good class." Finn snorted with bemusement. What an odd way to refer to his anger management... thing. Huh. Maybe it _was_ a class. He nodded in affirmation and moved swiftly, picking up a raincoat and grabbing Judy's umbrella on his way out. This annoyed her, as he so loved the rain, yet had condemned her to it, should she leave the house. Perhaps he was done with the rain, for now. Judy felt a shiver, and so dressed herself; wrapping up warm, with little care for properly coordinating the outfit. Not that she was particularly fashion-minded, but this dull ache in her heart made her less so. She shivered again, even wrapped up warm in a grey tracksuit. If this was November, think how cold winter would be. Such was her misguided guilt that she decided to do something she hadn't done since she was a leveret; she decided to pray. Hidden under her bed, in a little, wooden box, was her mother's rosary; which she had hidden in Judy's luggage when her daughter had first left for the city. Even knowing that she wasn't very religious. And being not very religious, she had kept it under her bed, and all but forgotten about it. Not parting with it, however, partly because it would be ungrateful, and partly because it was somehow comforting. She crawled under her bed, and pulled out the rosewood box, which still smelt a little sweet, making her nose twitch. It was small enough to sit comfortably in both hands. Inside, sitting in the red, velvet lining, was a lovingly handcrafted rosary of oaken beads, and a little, silver crucifix. The silver wasn't very pure, and so had begun to tarnish, as everything does with time. Most of her possessions from her dresser had been packed, save for her mirror and two small candles, which she gathered, and placed on the floor in front of her. Perhaps she had known she would be doing this, even if it did feel somewhat irrational. As irrational as every species depicting the same god as one of them. He couldn't be a fox, a hare, a badger, a giraffe, and a lion, not to mention every other species out there. That confusion was part of the reason that Judy had left the faith. But now, it was comforting, and she needed comfort. The image in her mind was not the fatherly, grey-brown Hare Jesus of her childhood, with soft, yet stern, olive green eyes. The image she saw now was a Fox Jesus. His expression was gentle, and reassuring, His fur was a bright orange and a snowy white. He was wrapped in a white robe, the countless folds making it seem well-fitting and overly large at the same time. Iridescent wings stretched out into the brilliant sunlight behind Him; a corridor of fire, and reached up so that the tips close to touched His elaborate halo; wreathed in fire also. His sky blue eyes were a little sad, and understanding. He reached both hands out towards her; as if offering her a hug. It was this image she held in her mind as she dimmed the lights, lit the candles; one on either side, and knelt between them, rubbing the smooth, wooden beads between thumb and forefinger, beginning her Hail Marys. It was something her mother had done, using the candles to help her focus. The mirror was not involved, she just hadn’t packed it yet. She prayed once for Finnick, that he might find peace, in his own way. She prayed once for Wolford, and his swift recovery. She prayed twice for Nick. Once to help him heal, and once for him to come home to them; to his family. She was rushing, anxiously gabbling away to herself, but was still able to speak very precisely, fluidly. All told, it took her about an hour, though she struggled at first, remembering the words. Afterwards, she felt a little bit silly, but also considerably lighter. She sighed, blew out her candles, and put everything back the way it was before she'd started. Looking out the window, she saw that the rain had all but stopped. Though still cloudy, still spitting, there were gaps in the grey; clear blue, even a rainbow.

 

Now back to Finn, to the moment he left, and his descent of those countless stairs. _'Why did I take her waterproofs? She has to work later. God, you're such a selfish prick, Finn! And I don't even get to feel the rain on my fur, not that I deserve it. Plus, her coat is way too big for me. Idiot! If you trip and break your neck, it's all you deserve! Why are you so... stupid?'_ As his thoughts so spiralled, he too began a descending spiral towards the ground. Every step growing darker, as did his mood. The flaps of Judy's raincoat hung down past his ankles, and trailed on the stairs behind him. The entire hall was slippery with mud, water, and grime; getting worse with each floor, as with each floor more people had travelled. _'Inconsiderate assholes, leaving all this mess for me to trek through. Morons. Oh, like they could stop it, idiot!'_ he tutted at his own thoughts, clicking his tongue against his teeth. His chest became flush with heat, and his lips pursed tighter and tighter, into a thin, dark line. _'Christ. Do they even _have_ a janitor? I can't wait to be out of this shitty apartment. And where, dumbass? An even shittier one? Living out of your van? A box? The street?! Be happy with what you've got and stop complaining, you-'_ Here, he interrupted his own internal monologue by tripping over his own feet (and the raincoat). He was near the foot of the stairs, luckily, but took quite a tumble, all the same. He landed in a heap, covered in mud; bruises on his shins, a graze on his left elbow where he had tried to catch himself, and a nose full of dirt, pain and blood from striking the surprisingly hard, cold floor. He had bitten his lip, and so spat out blood as he pulled himself up onto his hands and knees. The anger reached its zenith, as did his sense of foolishness. The part of him that had suffered most from his fall was his pride. Tears in his eyes, he glared skyward, directing his anger to the heavens, and challenging God in his ire. He felt the vocal folds of his larynx open to scream, pushed it up, into his mouth, ready to bellow out all that anger, all that pain, and then... he swallowed it. Gritting his teeth, he gripped tight around that white hot rage, burning his palm (and more literally, grasping the air in a clenched fist), and _yanked_ it down into his gut (punching the air near his hips from above, as he stood), where it formed a hot, little ball of lead that stirred about inside his guts. Ignoring this pain (and the small scratches on his palm from where he had dug in his claws a little (though kept them retracted, and so did not bleed as Nick usually did)). He marched forward, filled with a bitter determination to _fix_ what was fundamentally _broken_ about him. Stepping outside, he was nearly swept away by the severity of the inclement weather, which had increased exponentially. Wind howled, thunder and lightning clashed above, brightening parts of this dark world for scattered instants. Those bright spots chosen seemingly at random (or, you know, not at all, because the weather is not conscious), dazzled his eyes better suited for a more consistent level of light. He popped open his (Judy's) umbrella, which was instantly turned inside out and snatched away with such force that he would've broken his tiny arms if he'd managed to hold onto it. But his hands were slippy. The water around his ankles was threatening to wash him away (which only takes an inch if it's fast enough) and he thought to himself _'fuck. This is it. This is the day I die'_. Fortunately (or not, depending on your philosophical slant), fate had more in store for him, and this was not to be his end. Through a combination of grit, luck, determination, the fact that his van was slightly downhill, and enough practise wading through flash floods worse than this (sometimes he had to swim down the street), he made it to his van. Or more accurately, slammed into it hard enough that he was winded. Grumbling, he fished his keys out of his half-drowned pockets and flung himself through the door in one fluid motion. He sighed, and rested his head against the wheel from atop his booster seat; rested his feet against the stacks of books and miscellaneous crap he'd strapped to the pedals, briefly wondered why he'd "bought" a vehicle for a much larger mammal, and drove, slowly and carefully, to the community centre.

 

On a good day the drive to the community centre took maybe ten minutes. Fifteen with traffic. But today, it took almost an hour, it was raining so hard, and he had to drive so slowly, so carefully, just to avoid crashing, even with barely anyone else on the road. And yes, he was late. And no, it did not improve his mood. Nor did his wet clothes making his legs burn with the cold. That itchy, burning kind of numbness just under the skin. The kind you get if you run too far, too fast, in cold weather. Or if you drag yourself through some godforsaken hole underground, with a river flowing through it. Or hiding in a snow bank in Tundra Town, because the mob want to break your legs. Again. Don't worry, they never actually caught him. Regardless, his legs were cold and burning, as his trousers clung to them, filthy and wet. The building came into view, a place that looked as desolate as Finn felt; its original purpose had been designed to be a group of newly refurbished apartments. However, somewhere between planning and building the site, its purpose had changed. It now belonged to some rich corporation somewhere, who had decided that more homes were not necessary in Zootopia, and instead altered the building to primarily function as a simple down and out dump. Some floors were used as offices, others left to rot, one or two were supposedly used as storage rooms, but Finn couldn’t say, as he’d never given a damn about any but the ground floor. It was the only floor that served as an ersatz community center. On Wednesdays it was reserved for his anger management group. It was a large, grey block of concrete, interspersed with single glazed windows on each floor. Its dull, bland exterior revealed not only the lack of care and maintenance gone into the place, but also its obvious signs of being a safety hazard. A solitary fire escape existed within the whole building, placed solely on the ground floor. Finn didn’t doubt for one second that someday the whole place would go up in flames, and there’d be hell to pay for the corporation when news broke of their shoddy layout. The deluge had somewhat slowed, though the downpour remained torrential; and the building was situated slightly uphill, in a more streamlined part of town with wider streets and fewer corners, so the water level was lower. Low enough for his numb toes to feel a slight discomfort, as he hopped down from his driver's seat the cold made his legs stiffen, so much so that he was forced to occasionally use his hands to physically lift his legs or rub his palms against them in order to gain some circulation. He did this until he reached the large, glass doors with the long, vertical handles. He approached his usual entrance of the back door, given that the front one was currently still off its hinges. A small sigh escaped his lips, as he mustered what little strength remained within him to fight against the wind and pull the door open. The downpour combined with the bluster resulted in the door handle being so slippery that his hands could not grasp it properly, nor could he yank the door open despite having had to resort to using all of his strength. Usually, this sort of situation would have provoked his anger, or at the very least an irritated response. Today however, he merely debated giving up and heading home… except that that action might prompt Judy to worry further, so perhaps not.

“Need some help?” The speaker had to shout to be heard over the gale, but a single glance was all it took to place him. No one else in the group was crazy enough to come out in this weather in shorts other than Paul. But then the Pine Marten was one of their most eccentric members. He was about a half a foot taller than Finn, and his current attire was a hawaiian shirt; which caused a slight twinge, emotionally drained though he was. He also wore white shorts, and, most bizarrely of all, on his head rested a pair of sunglasses. If he was cold or uncomfortable in any way, he didn’t show it. As his fellow group member approached and placed his hand on the door next to the fennec’s, Finn couldn’t help but arch an eyebrow. Paul noticed, but rather than become self conscious or embarrassed, he merely chuckled. 

“I know what you’re thinking, but you never know when the weather's gonna change, right?”  
Finnick simply blinked, nodded, and proceeded to pour all of his energy into pulling on the handle with all his might. Due to their combined efforts, the door swung open and stayed ajar enough for them to both slip inside the room. Paul allowed Finn to enter first, and no sooner had he followed suit, than the door slammed shut with a fierce thud. The loudness caused a few of the room’s occupants to jump, but Finn merely stilled for a second. Despite being inside, the still audible gusts of wind and the hammering of the rain striking the ground created an almost palpable atmosphere of gloominess and borderline fear; many were clearly afraid of the storm, given how unsafe their current environment seemed. Finn would bet any amount of money that if lighting were to strike, their building would be the first and only place to take a hit. They walked through those doors, and trudged along the mud-slewn floors, following the tracks of those who’d come before. They had to watch his footing every now and then, to avoid slipping. At the end of the path, they entered the sparsely-populated room where they always met to find the filthy tracks diverged into a circle around a ring of mostly empty chairs. At one end of the room was a long table (or series of tables) of refreshments, that took up the wall left of the door. Opposite the door was a large window, through which the storm could be observed. On the remaining wall was a series of noticeboards. Although quite late, only about half of the other members had arrived thus far, counting Finn and Paul, there were eight of them in total. Ryan, the group leader, was seated as always; his back perfectly straight, his posture steady. His turquoise eyes were gentle in their assessment of Finn, grey fur covered the parts of his body not hidden under his stonewash jeans, which when coupled with his loosely buttoned silk shirt, and flowing blonde white mane, gave him a peaceful, welcoming aura. Upon their arrival he turned to face them and smiled softly. 

“Ah, Finnick, Paul, glad you could make it with the weather.” They took their seats, careful not to slip on the muddy floor. Beside Ryan sat Daniel, a honey badger clad in tones of black, brown and gold that matched his fur, to the right of him, two seats down was Harold. The zebra was by far the oldest there, at least sixteen years Finn’s senior. Matching this, his coat was beginning to grey, though his black and white stripes still stood out against each other fairly well. He was a stoic man, but inside his eyes; beneath the small, round spectacles and thin layers of cataracts swirled a vortex of rage that was kept well and truly under lock and key. His ensemble matched this greyness, being not even colourful enough to call a pallette, but with hints of yellow, blue, and pink in the lumpy, uncomfortable, home-knitted sweater. His jeans were in a similar state. Frayed and patched, very pale from years of being worn, washed, and repaired. More or less opposite Ryan, distant in seating, and in personality was Yvette; a hyena with dusky fur and even more spots than was the norm. She wore a pink blouse that was ill-fitting of her form, and of her mind. Next was Paul; optimistically positioned as close to Yvette as he dared. Finn, feeling strangely out of place, decided to sit immediately next to him, in contrast to the space he usually put between himself and the others (not that this was possible on days with a full house). Lastly, on Ryan’s other side, with a seat in between, was Craig; a sandy-coloured ferret with clothes designed to look common, but clearly of an expensive brand if one were to look closely. He was as handsome as he was ugly, with even features, and a slender (if somewhat wiry) build. For some reason he glared at Finn and Paul sitting next to each other, but immediately stopped. He did, however, hop a seat closer, then acted like nothing happened. 

“S-sorry I’m late.” Finnick muttered, his cheeks prickling, avoiding Ryan’s gaze like a kid late to class.

“Not at all. We were just getting started. Daniel was just beginning to open up about his wife Marie.” Daniel prickled a little, it seems Ryan had stepped on his toes.

“Right.” He grimaced, giving the T a slight click of finality through his grinding teeth, which he then licked, before continuing. “Well, she… I’m pretty sure she’s…” and Finn stopped listening. What was even really the point? _We come here twice a week, complain about our stupid problems, and for what? I’m just as angry as ever. How is any of this bullshit supposed to help?_ Everyone began to murmur approvingly.

“Thank you, Daniel for sharing that story. It seems you are making progress.” Daniel’s response to this was to roll his eyes. “From whom shall we hear next?” He surveyed the group, careful in his selection. His eyes fell on Finnick. “Finn. You’ve not spoken in a while. How are things with your boyfriend?” Finn bit his lip, but did his best to hide the obvious tell.

“Fine.” He croaked. There was a light pressure on his hand. He looked down to find that Paul was squeezing it, and beaming at him with that goofy grin. He had a tendency to get over-attached, and even though they’d spent no time together outside of the group, he saw Finn as his friend.

“You don’t have to speak if you’re not ready.” Paul reminded him with a gentle expression. Finn squeezed Paul’s hand back, and stood upon his chair for the extra height before addressing the group.

“It’s fine.” He whispered to Paul as he took to his feet. There was a painful lump in his throat, which he tried, and failed, to clear. His heart was pounding in his chest, in his ears, and in his stomach, causing a mild degree of nausea. He opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. Everyone was staring at him, some with kindness, some with understanding, or patience, or impatience in the case of Craig. However they looked at him, their eyes were burning into him; searing his flesh, rending his heart, and yoking his soul to be laid bare before them. It was agony. “I… Nick…” _Is this really relevant? We’re supposed to be talking about our anger._ He drew in his breath, pushed away the numbing sadness and found the bitter rage that lay beneath: raw, squirming, writhing. A pool of blood and darkness; a font that sprang from his very core and flowed free at the surface. “The son of a bitch left me, and I don’t even know why! All that stuff about sticking it out, and working on our problems, and then he just up and leaves! He looks at the crippled bastard he cheated on me with, decides he’s poison, and now he won’t even talk to me! Oh, I’m poison, I kill everything I touch, blah fucking blah. Asshole. You haven’t killed me in twenty years, unless you count every single time you walk away, or make me walk away. Why do you hate yourself, you goddamn moron?! It makes me so mad to see the most beautiful, perfect thing in the world hate himself for no reason! Meanwhile, I’m just pathetic. No one will hire me, no one will buy my art, Judy has to do everything. Everything! I’m gonna end up back on the streets again. Again! Living out of the back of my van, doing god knows what just to make ends meet, because damn if this city would just hire. A goddamn. Vulpine. But oh no, we’re scum, we’re not to be trusted, red foxes are sluts, fennecs are children, arctics are too frail. Bullshit! I’m a grown-ass man, and I’ll bite your face off if you say otherwise! And Judy. _Judy._ It’s been a week. One goddamn solitary fucking week, and she’s all over me. It’s confusing, it’s aggravating, and she won’t take the hint. I’m not ready for a new relationship. I’m not even ready for a rebound. She took all her stuff with Nick, fixed it on me, and now she’s borderline obsessed! I don’t know how I feel, or what I want to do, and all because the fucking asshole; the love of my life, has turned thirty-one and still doesn’t know how to handle a proper breakup! He doesn’t leave a clean break. He runs away at the first sign of trouble, and rips a him-shaped hole out of their life in the process. We’re both smaller than him, and there’s nothing left!” Everything after that was wordless screaming. He hopped over the back of his chair and flung it across the room (away from the group, thankfully), to where it struck the opposing wall with a resounding clang. There was a deafening hush. Finn fell onto his hands and knees, trembling, struggling not to cry; refusing to let the tears fall. He couldn’t breathe without gasping. His lungs wouldn’t pull in enough air to sustain him. His stomach was twisting, his chest was screaming in pain. In the throes of agony, he pulled himself back onto his hind legs, kneeling, he clung to himself. He wanted to burrow through the the wet, muddy tiles, dig a hole for himself and die from the sheer mortification. The small, gentle hand of a pine marten touched his shoulder, and that one act of kindness was enough to break him. Hiding the tears that fell, he buried his burning face in Paul’s slender chest.

“You’re okay.” He shushed. “You did well. You did well. Let it all out, that’s it.”

“Thank you for sharing, Finn. It’s good to let go of that anger, not to hold it inside you.” Announced Ryan. “Although throwing the chair was a little much.” There was a nervous laugh from the group at large, though Craig merely crossed his arms and glowered. Finn was confused.

“I thought… I thought the whole point of this was to learn to control our anger.” Finn choked, trying to be audible, whilst also hiding his sobs. An impossible task, to do both. “I lost control. I freaked out, I…” Paul shushed him again, and began rocking back and forth.

“It is true that ones anger must be controlled, however, repressing ones anger is not control.” Ryan spoke calmly; addressing not only Finn, but the group in general. “Part of what we’re doing here is learning healthy ways to express our anger. Talking about it is healthy. Feeling it, living it, and letting it go is healthy. Don’t be ashamed. You’ve done very well. How do you feel?” 

“Angry. Tired. A little better.” He actually felt a lot better, beneath the sudden wave of fatigue that followed his outburst. Finn and Paul stood, Finn parted from him (which felt like leaving something behind), and rather than retrieving the chair he’d thrown, Finn instead took the next free seat, and shuffled closer to his friend.

Ryan took a breath, about to speak, likely going to choose the next speaker, but Craig cut in beforehand. “Your boyfriend’s an asshole.” This struck a nerve in Finn. How dare he? How _dare_ he?

“What?” He asked with a fine point.

With a smug look of self-righteous satisfaction, Craig repeated himself. “What? From what you said, he sounds like a real piece of work.” Finn’s eyebrow twitched, and his teeth clicked, grinding together.

“Who the _hell_ do you think you are?!” He stood, raising his voice. Craig followed suit.

“Oh, so it’s alright when _you_ say it? You’re a hypocrite.” They began to stalk towards each other, across the circle. The entire group bristled. The air was electric, with a slight metallic taste.

“You don’t even know him.” Finn declared, sweeping his arm sideways for emphasis.

“You just told me everything I need to know!” Craig roared, his eyes burned with a raging blaze of anger, but his mouth, his mouth was smiling. He was getting off on this. He hadn’t had fun like this in years.

“You don’t know anything about us! What we’ve been through! Why he is the way he is!” Finn was screaming. They were so close now they could very well escalate to physical violence. They probably would. Sensing this, Ryan stood, and snapped his left hoof against the hard tiles; producing a sound loud enough, and clear enough to alert the fennec, and the ferret.

“Enough.” Ryan was soft-spoken, but could be loud when he wanted to be, or felt it was necessary. Even his eyes were shining with fire. He cleared his throat, ran his hand through his mane, and retook his seat. With a wave of his hand, he directed the others to do the same.

“Fuck this.” Finnick muttered under his breath, and stalked out of the room, down the hall, and into the bathroom. He stood, leaning over the basin closest to the door, focusing on his breathing. He just stood there, breathing, just breathing. Feeling the ebb and flow of anger in his breast. He ran the cold tap and rubbed the icy water against his face. Once, twice, three times. On the third time, he heard the door swing open. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Craig, and span around to face him properly, leaving the tap running.

“Hey, easy.” Said the ferret, with his hands up. “I came to apologise.” Said his words, but his voice smacked of insincerity and a strange sort of glee. “Listen, my dad” the way he said dad indicated an utter disdain for the man who raised him (and whose influence had seen him out of jail time on more than one occasion) “has some dealings in the art world. I can have him send someone over to see your work.”

“Really?” It sounded way too good to be true. He was suspicious, but played along. “Thanks, man. That’d really help me out.” Craig slinked closer, well into Finn’s personal space.

“But first, I want you to do something for me.” He loomed over him, his lanky frame seeming to surround Finn as Craig leant against the mirror with his left hand, making the slightly smaller mammal back into the counter out of sheer discomfort.

“This is a pretty sucky apology.” Finn huffed. Craig just smirked.

“The apology is separate.” He hissed into Finn’s ear. “Can you really afford to pass up this opportunity?” He began to palm at Finn’s chest, making his heart flutter in equal parts dread and longing.

“I don’t know.” Finn shook his head. “I’m not really…”

“Oh, come on.” Craig interrupted. “I’m very… flexible.” He twisted his weird ferret body so that their crotches were pressed together, his torso trailed part way around Finn’s waist and up his back to where he nibbled Finn’s ear. “I could do things to you that you could never … anticipate.” He drawled, hissing out the word anticipate over several seconds.

“Jesus. Are you a ferret or a snake?” Finn snarked, pushing Craig away, and heading for the door. Craig stopped him, grabbing his shoulder.

“Maybe I’m the serpent from Eden.” He rubbed his hands up and down Finn’s chest, dancing over his nipples, even through the slippery fabric of his shirt. Against his wishes, his body began to react. “See? You like it.” He began to grope him, and play with the button on Finn’s khakis. “Just give in. Be bad…” It was tempting, but… it seemed wrong, somehow.

“Wait. Stop.” Finn plead, but it was somewhat half-hearted, and fell on deaf ears.

“Come on…” Craig began to kiss his neck. Suddenly, he was in front of him. Finn noticed that Craig’s fly was open, and despite his protests, Craig soon had Finn’s own garments around his ankles. He was fondling his balls, and palming his treacherous erection. Finn was panting, moaning, but still trying to push him away.

“I’m serious. Just stop, I’m not interested.” He muttered, but didn’t put in much effort. One half of his mind was screaming to get the hell out, and the other way screaming to stay, to let this happen. He felt Craig’s hot, wet mouth on him, and with a shriek, kicked him away. Luckily, he didn’t get his dick bitten off. His shaking hands fumbled to quickly get his clothes back on, as Craig glared at him, rubbing his jaw, spitting out a spot of blood. He stalked towards him in the small space, palming himself where he slipped out of his fly. “Just get the hell away from me!” Finn roared, as loud as he could. Craig advanced, and Finn slammed him into the bathroom stalls with a crash. The door swung open, and Craig was sprawled across the toilet. He scowled. He rushed Finn, who stepped to one side, and pushed Craig’s head into the basin; the running water now freezing cold. He cried out in rage and pain as Finn swept out the door, almost crashing into Ryan, who had come to see what was happening.

“Are you alright? I heard someone cry out…” Through the open door, he saw Craig, bloodied, wet, partially undressed; and Finn, seemingly perfectly fine, if a bit shaken, and immediately jumped to the exact wrong conclusion.

“It’s not… he tried to…” Finn floundered, panting heavily. Ryan’s lips narrowed, and he crossed his arms. “Dammit, he tried to force me! I was just defending myself, a’ight?”

“Is this true?” Ryan demanded. Craig said nothing, still panting heavily, struggling to stand (or putting on a good show of it, at least). “I’m waiting.”

“Hell no!” Craig exclaimed, standing up, and brushing the water from his face as he stared them down. “Look at him! He’s still hard!”

“That doesn’t mean anything, you fucking asshole! It’s been a month, you prick! Doesn’t mean I want fuck all to do with you!” That fucking liar had him so pissed off, he probably would’ve beaten him to death if Ryan hadn’t stepped between them.

“It’s alright, Finn. I believe you.” He said reassuringly. He then turned his ire to Craig. “As for you, your case worker will hear of this. You are certainly in violation of your court order.” What the hell did that mean, Finn wondered. Had this happened before?

“Tch. You think I care?” Craig rolled his eyes. Even if Ryan did follow through on this, he’d gotten out of worse scrapes. But still, such flippance. How many times did he think his father would buy his freedom? How many times would he be lucky enough to fall before a corrupt, or bribable judge? There was a twinge of doubt, but that’s all it was. A twinge.

“You should care. In your situation, prison is all but a certainty.” Ryan reminded him, but Craig only laughed. 

“Stop laughing!” Finn snapped. “This is serious.” Craig did stop laughing, but not out of remorse; out of irritation. As Finn clenched his fists, Craig straightened up, washed the blood off his face, and darkened his eyes.

“Hn. You idiots just don’t grasp the situation at all.” His serpent’s tongue darted past his teeth for a moment. 

“Whatever.” It was clear Craig had more to say, but Finn didn’t care. He just simply did not care. This was Ryan’s problem now. “I’m goin’ home.” Finn muttered. He was suddenly desperate to lie down. “That a’right?” Ryan nodded in acquiescence, and Finn departed. Frankly, he didn’t much care what happened to Craig, one way or the other. If it was someone else, perhaps he would have, but... Seeing the sky, he noted that the rain had slowed to a drizzle, and the clouds had parted. “Fuck, I hate rainbows.”

 

At this very moment, Judy was continuing with her packing, as she is wont to do, and packing for Finn too, by way of penitence. It was a strange feeling; sombre, and nostalgic, as she packed away the last of their things, labelled them, organised, stacked, restacked, unstacked, unpacked, reorganise, repack, repeat. No matter where she put them, it felt wrong, somehow. It was so... aggravating. How could she say goodbye to her home? The home she built with Nick, broken, mended, burnt, rebuilt. It was agony. But it was somehow exhilarating. A new home, a new horizon, a new adventure. Only a few miles away, but lightyears from where she now stood. She finished packing up the last of the kitchen things, leaving only a few paper plates and plastic forks to last until the move. It was stacked with the others, properly labelled, and leant upon by the weary hare who swept sweat from her brow with the back of her arm. She stood there, tired, and aching; reminiscing about everything since she'd moved to this city. At first, it had been a shining gem in a vast wasteland, then swiftly a miserable place of disappointment and failure, but now? Now she had grown up enough to realise it was both at once, and neither of them. A mix of all different kinds of people, living different kinds of lives. Inside and outside the law to which she had devoted her entire life. Good and bad on each side. In each person. It was her phone that broke her reverie, having already rung three or four times before the insistent buzzing and beeping caught her ear.

"Yes?" She spoke, having fished it out of her pocket.

"Hopps." Spoke the baritone buffalo on the other end. "I need you to come down to the precinct. It's rather urgent."

"Yes, sir! But... what is it..." The phone beeped three times, indicating the end of the call. She sighed, bemoaning her boss's abruptness, and replaced her phone. She grabbed her coat as she left the door, sensing there was too little time even to don her uniform. At which point, she remembered that uniforms were optional for her now, provided she was presentable. Had she left but a minute later, she and Finn would have likely crossed paths as he returned home. Indeed, she drove around the bend, and out of sight, just as he came around the other bend, and into sight. Finding himself alone, he retired. Finding the bedding packed away (somewhat prematurely, in Judy's frenetic rush), he curled up upon the bare mattress and rested without sleeping. Judy found the roads mostly clear, and arrived at the precinct not ten minutes hence. Upon parking, she rushed straight to the Chief’s office, barely even acknowledging Clawhauser, who waved to her as she ascended to the upper level. She knocked on the door, and was immediately greeted by Bogo barking enter.

“Ah, Hopps. Nice and prompt, as I like it. Please, take a seat.” He gestured to the chair before his desk, and having closed the door behind her, she sat. He tented his cloven fingers, tapping the ends together as he regarded Detective Hopps, considering how to speak what must be said. She sat patiently, eyes bright with something resembling hope, and curiosity, but with an edge of sadness. “So… you’ve been gone over a month.” He started. Her face fell. “You’re not in trouble.” He reassured her. “I understand there were… extenuating circumstances.” The poor dear really does struggle with his words, or more accurately, words pertaining to emotions, even tangentially. He cleared his throat before continuing. “With no one working the case for so long, I had to transfer it to unsolved cases. All your work, along with Wilde’s, and all documentation pertaining to it has already been turned over to Clarks.” Clarks was a hyena, and subject to no end of scorn, but Judy didn’t mind him personally. Even if his department basically just opened jars already loosened by weeks, even months, of manpower. “Further, you are being transferred to Precinct Twenty Two in the Nocturnal District. Vice, specifically. You will be working undercover, with instruction from Captain William Coates, who will brief you further. You begin tonight, at twenty one hundred hours. I suggest you get some rest.” To say this was a blow was an understatement. However, she was beholden to her superiors, and like an obedient puppet, she made no complaints. Gone was the firecracker with the strength to question her superiors. Perhaps if there came an edict with which she strongly disagreed, she would do so. But that was not this day.

“Thank you, sir.” She stood, somewhat dejected, to return home and plan her route for that night.

She got home, exhausted, wide awake, and with six hours to eat, sleep, and get halfway across the city for an eight hour shift. Lovely. But the rainbow was nice, before it faded, as all things do in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this one took forever. A big thank you to Magic in the Mundane for helping me with the Finn scene, which is where I was struggling the most. With that done, I can charge through most of the rest of the work with no problem (schedule permitting). Full steam ahead. Don't expect miracles.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. If you noticed an error I've missed; don't be afraid to tell me. I want this to shine for all who read it. If you have an idea about what will happen next, please share them below. I encourage discussion. And who knows, it may even influence my decisions.


End file.
